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04-06-2013, 04:16 PM
He was quite magnificent to look at. Tall; almost imposing. Muscle rippled, an entity beneath his coat. Wasted. Wasted in this lifeless body. It wasn't hard to tell, upon glancing even just once at him, that his pelt was pure white. That his tail, waving in wispy locks and hovering just an inch or so above the ground, was the same colour. And his mane, and the forelock that swept lazily over his coal coloured eyes. Though a thin layer of dust and dirt coated him now, as though he had been travelling too long, as though he had been lost for too long. One gunmetal grey hoof scoured the ground as if, somewhere behind the emptiness, there was a yearning for discovery inside him.
But any real sense of emotion, any depth to him that had been there once, had not lingered. Long gone, the sense of adventure and hope had been replaced by bitterness, wistfulness, and now merely cold. His neck still arched powerfully; ears still pricked attentively forwards; nimble, lengthy, formidable limbs still lifted high, smartly off the ground. A front, almost. For beneath the calm and collected pretense lay only brokenness, and despite the exterior seething with strength, his tones were devoid of anything except trenchant offense. Each breath heaved from his weary lungs and spiraled into the air, as beautiful as the rest of him, and equally as lacking in life.
And yet...there was a sense of something there. Perhaps only painful memories, but that was better than nothing, surely. It was evident that the life he had once had was infinitely better than the one he had collapsed into, effortlessly, yes, but enthusiastically? No. He snorted, allowing lingering whispers of his breath to pollute the air, and winced visibly at something, as though convinced of his own toxicity. Repeatedly dragged the same hoof - his front right - through the oblivious earth, lowering his maw to the ground and shaking his weighty head with some form of resolution from side to side. For a split second only, yet long enough for him to realise and cloud it with emptiness again, a darkness flitted through his eyes. For a split second the coals set on fire. Only to be stopped in their tracks by the prohibition of himself. Fire could not survive in such a cold environment. Any annoyance he felt towards himself for displaying a fragment of emotion was not shown, either because he wouldn't allow it or because it wasn't there. Because he had somehow trained himself not to feel.
Matterhorn raised his head again and glanced at his surroundings, forbidding more than a nanosecond spent looking at each leaf, each molecule of dirt, each jagged piece of bark. He didn't want anything to become too familiar. Not after the last time.
