Among the thickening trees, the solider passes, sturdy legs a blur as they carry the heated madness past the whistling history - it still reminds him that he's haunted. As he pulls further and further away, he feels a washing warm bath of relief pour over his heated skin as he escapes. But he notices that night is nearing, and there are sharp vapors rising behind him, lapping at his bay flesh. His gallop gnaws at the trembling forest, and as he pounds over the distance, the shade-creatures are swallowed by the dust he leaves. He's stricken with... fear? They devoured his reign. They are the decedents of what killed his parents, reaching out to take him to where the dead resides. His mind screams, rages at the fighting shades. War was over! They'd chase him to the edge of the world - at least until his heart gave way. He was fighting them now, fighting to leave, fighting to kill the memories.
Sick hatred pummeled through his brain. His he looked over his right shoulder, he saw them blazing through the trees, but tiring, realizing that this was just one last victim. They'd slaughtered an entire army. What blood could they want now? Quickly they fall off, one by one, two by two, hundreds by hundreds. And he is alone racing through the blurry trees, facing mountains that square up the sky. They seem to craw closer as stars begin to blink.
Daltoff glances behind one last time, and halts, sprays of dirt and dust splay beneath his cloven hooves. Ache burns in his legs, but he swallows it in a heavy-breathing huff. His red eye stares off into the winding trail, he glances upwards to capture the filtering moonlight. He doesn't hear whispering black ghosts. At once he's alone, and he values it. The land smells strongly of horses of all races. He grinds his back teeth. There simply was not an escape from the seething battles. They continue to fuel him through the night as he paces. Pine nettles are the only cadence, whispering in the dark shade's place. He is grateful and waiting. A growl is still capable, rumbling through his drenched chest. He's still under the moonlight, it wades around his hooves, sloshing about his wind-tousled mane.
diagnosis-designs, Momotte2stocks, and ilovearies
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