The sky was gray and the sea a deep shade of steel blue. Heavy mist obscured the horizon and made the two merge together somehow, lending the usually pleasant beach a bit of an eerie feeling. Out of the mists the dwarven steed strode, slowly and with a slight limp. His healing body did not take well to traveling, but he had to come back here, pretend that nothing had happened. Pretend that he still had somewhere to call home. Inside, he scolded himself for not appreciating it more when he had the chance, but this might be one of those cases where you don’t know what you’ve got until you lose it. He tried to stay his usual chipper self when around his herdmates, but when left alone he found himself still grieving. The Edge had been the first real home where he had felt comfortable. Happy, even. But it had been ripped away from him brutally and he found it harder to see the bright side of things.
This early afternoon, he felt as clouded as the sky above; it was one of those winter days where the sun never seems to rise. Aurelius was tired, but physically he was recovering. The wounds that he had received during the battle were healed and his shoulder only pained him when he was under stress or pushing himself too hard. Walking upon a dune, the short stag halted and glanced up toward the cliffs with his mismatched eyes. He dared not trespass on their borders, or he might be taken for hostile, though he had no such intentions. It seemed lately that he had started to doubt that he would ever feel anything besides this heavy knot in his stomach ever again. They say what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger; Aurelius just felt weak. He needed to put some space between himself and the pacing Mauja, who was gloomier than ever and plotting his revenge upon their enemies. The dwarf couldn’t watch it for one moment longer, so much unlike him, he had left them behind.
Now, he took a deep breath of the cold, salty air and felt the lazy breeze tug on his tresses. They were not as rich and heavy as they used to be, some having been scorched by dragonfire in the battle, but it was growing back nicely. Eyes drifted out over the iron colored waves, lapping lazily at the shore, filling his ears with a rhythmic, pulsating sound. He felt comforted by surrounding himself with the familiar, and a deep sigh escaped his small maw. His winter coat had grown in, making him appear shaggier than ever, and he appreciated the milder weather at the shore. Sure, he was born for the cold, rocky landscapes like the one in the Steppe, but his heart had always longed for a more pleasant life. Might be this was his punishment, for always striving for something more, something better, when he should stop and smell the roses. In silence he stood, like a tiny statue, mismatched eyes slightly glazed as he crumbled from within.
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