Air gusts harshly out of the old stallions lungs as his step is abruptly cut short. He grunts, rebounding off the solid, unseen obstacle, his muscles tensing and drawing him back in a mix of surprise and apprehension, instinctively turning his head to protect the soft sensory organs of eyes and mouth. "What – “ He starts, but the others voice is quicker. Instantly he recognizes the petulant tone, the self-important air. Both ears flick back against his maneless poll, disappearing behind the bulk of his horns and the startled companion clinging there.

"Fuck off.” He huffs in answer, lips curling to brandish uneven rows of age yellowed teeth. The black and gold asshole holds a special place of malice in his shriveled old heart, the circumstances of their first meeting etched into the skin of his left shoulder for forever more. It’s then, glaring into the idiots asshole face that he notices the look of genuine concern there, completely at odds with the earlier tone and assumed sentiments of shared hatred. The haughty, golden eyes aren’t even looking at him, instead pinned to the ground between his hooves.

Confused, he glances down, one ear peeling away from the back of his skull to keep tabs on the asshole while his attention shifts, but his confusion only grows as he peers down at what appears to be an ordinary pebble, though the way the asshole is staring at it like his life depends on the things very existence makes him suspicious of something more. Tentatively, eyes flicking between the stone, the deer, and the other stallion, he lowers his head to grasp the pebble between his lips.

It feels warm, its surface smooth, exactly how someone would expect a small, round pebble to feel, in fact. He waits, expectant, but there’s nothing about the stone that seems out of the ordinary - besides the obvious value the black and gold asshole has placed on it. He feels nothing unusual and begins to wonder what unknown magics might be hidden inside the stone to make the other stallion behave so strangely over it.

Maybe it’s the sudden, reactive feeling of vulnerability at standing face to face with the man that nearly killed him once already and knowing that there's not another soul alive that would come to his defense, maybe it’s an instinctive fear of the unknown, waiting here for something completely out of his control to happen, or maybe it’s whatever magic is actually in the pebble acting of its own accord, recognizing the foremost and most overwhelming sense of emotion in the old stallions consciousness; Whatever the catalyst, an odor of fear starts to drift from the old stallions pores, sweat dampening the base of his neck.

Impotence, helplessness, hopelessness, the feeling of vast emptiness in all directions, of absence in the world, a colorful illusion shattered, all the details only imaginary friends of a desperate mind. The Basins Thief had spoken to him once of two roads in life, how he had chosen the poorer of the two and must turn back to avoid his ruin, but the old stallion knows better. He has walked the higher road, for years and years he walked it, devoutly shouldered the weight of his kingdom and galloped until his very lungs burst from his chest, until at last he crawled its final slopes on bloodied knees to find, not heaven past its final tests, no idealistic pasture of pleasure and plenty, but a sudden drop off, the earth ending at an abrupt cliff face. Far below, gently winding around the base of the mountain in picturesque simplicity sat the low road, no middle ground in sight. What faultless soul could blame him then, for stumbling over the edge, for refusing the thankless, painful trial of starting again? Aimless, broken, and afraid, he haunts the easy trail with volatile bitterness only thinly veiling his pain, though there's no need to hide what no one is willing to see in the first place.

An unexpected flash of movement and sound from above shocks the stallion out of his stupor, the stone slipping from his mouth and bouncing once toward the black and gold. He shakes his head, both to clear it and as a reprimand to his young companion for scaring the absolute piss out of him by striking out like that. The snake is unremorseful, hissing low in his throat and mentally urging the old stallion to leave, acutely uncomfortable with the swelling negativity around him.



"Alby talks" 'Strom talks'
OOC // @Rikyn I'm sorry for the wait. I was really at a loss for how to write this or exactly what to write, so I hope this okay. I figured you could interpret as you like, though I'm fine with Rikyn "seeing" the scene of his emotions as clearly as you want. Fear, hopelessness, disillusionment, take your pick. <3 Strom struck at him but he's too little to actually reach anything.