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01-11-2013, 05:49 PM
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He leads. With steady steps he takes point, hooves striking the ground with purpose that resonates through his bones. Tall frame cuts the path before the bay stallion that follows him. Mud that clings to similarly darkened pillars of brown washes away through the wet undergrowth he walks through. Trading off for a lighter color more befitting of his golden hide. Sun is breaking through the oppressing rain clouds, though his coat remains dulled by the rain that poured down moments ago. One listeners swivels upon his crown to concentrate on the young stallion that follows him. The other is cocked towards home, the place he returns to always. It is a deep calling, nearly primal. The mists call him back, the waves of the cliffs beat inside his breast and rush through his veins. Already it has become a place of pride for him. He belongs there and he has taken on a fierce love for it. Kaj turned baby blues to the horizon once more. Smells are turning increasingly more familiar as they touch his nostrils. Soon enough the fog appears, seeping slowly across the ground to welcome home ghosts that watch from trees and appear from darkness in silence. The Edge is a silent fortress, its inhabitants watching from shadows with eyes as cold as the sea itself. Waiting in muted silence for the return of their loved ones. Their power is a sturdy, patient one. The Edge will thrive and their members will be returned. Kaj is sure of it. He has no qualms with allowing the mists to embrace his legs, enjoying the familiarity of the scent of the tide and the deep rich scent of the new rain on the wooded pillars reaching their branches toward the sky in vain. They shall never reach it, never taste the divine rush that only others of his kind can access. It is then that he wishes to take wind under wing and soar, keep eye on he home he so loves. Drink from those rain laced skies, pour its essence into his soul where it has always belonged. But no. Today he must ignore the callings of his wandering mind. He has a recruit to lead and he shall do so, for duty comes before pleasure. Always. Though he feels strange doing it he stops a few paces into the border. Heart tugs him forward, calling him on. Telling him to return to the land he loves fiercely. Dark laced drivers don't obey. Bright head angles back and he sings out, letting the most and trees absorb his vocals and pass it on. He calls for Rishima, for anyone who can welcome the stallion with the pained eyes and the submissive but endearing demeanor. We have a new brother. Welcome home, Panto. |
