The Devil Cries
All through the night

"As I run through the glass in the street, with Kerosene hearts"

The ebony stallion stallion stopped on the edge of the land of Helovia. HE had heard many rumors about his place, of the magic, and strength the inhabitants carried. He never believed in such stuff, even though he had a pair of wings sitting solemnly on his shoulders. His shoulders seemed to carry a lot besides just physical weight. He he carried the many lives he has taken upon his shoulders as well, every poor soul, clinging to him to regain their life. The snow was melting and new flowers and life began to spring up. He hated spring, he hated it because it was beautiful, he hated beauty and everything about it. It reminded him of his long lost love, the only mare who had ever seemed to understand the poor stallion, and understand his heartache.

"Carry the name that my father gave me, And take the face of the wolf"

The stallions name was Dúchanar. A well muscled black stallion. He had several red marks on his bodice, the color of blood. His face, ever so cold, his expression never changing, an icy feel, just like his soul. The dark stallions long legs stretched out in front of him as he entered the threshold. There was no turning back now, and he knew it. He figured this could be a new start, but who ever said second chances really did exist? Especially for someone like himself, he doubted every step. He saw his fathers face in his, a grown horse, resembling the very man he hated, the man who ruined his life, the man who made him the way he is now.

"Cause this is a wasteland, my only retreat
With heaven above you, there's hell over me"

A low snort exited the stallions muzzle. He looked slightly to the side, his pace slow. He looked around the area for another horse. He really did not feel like confronting anyone or anything. He wanted to be alone, where it was quiet. But when he was a lone, he often would get lost in his mind, oh his mind, the darkest place anyone could imagine. He hated getting lost in thought, his mind often trailing back to that dreadful day. The day he hated most, the day he relives every time he closed his ice blue eyes. His eyes were the color of his mothers, and oh, how she was beautiful. Its been said when you look into his eyes, you see nothing, as though he is soulless. You see anger, bitterness, ignorance, and a cold heart, but also sorrow, and hurting. He closed his eyes and leaned against a narrow tree that shot up towards the sky, as if reaching to the gods themselves. HAH that was a joke, the gods, who are they to depict what he can and cant be or do, the only reason people listen to them is because they are powerful, take all that power away, and they are nothing, just little specs of dirt in a universe so big. He shoved his head against the bark, scarring the tree slightly as a small drop of blood drizzled down his white face.