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04-19-2013, 02:42 PM
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They sank their teeth into him until he bled black. They tore him apart with scythes of the reaper and shredded his spirit. It had taken his all to survive. Now, it took everything he had left to keep on living. He did not walk to the threshold, he stumbled. He was incapable of any movement more graceful than a lurching stagger to force himself forward, for forward was away from the sodom of Anarore. He remembered little more than the constant surging battle against darkness. He remembered his name only faintly, as if it belonged to someone else. It felt strange as it lurked there in the back of his mind. He did not ever wish to speak it again. In little more than a year he had somehow become an old warrior: a relic of a battle-torn age that no longer belonged in his own world. His once perfectly kept mane and tail now trailed behind him in little more than a mess of stray locks and torn ribbons. He had gone unwashed for countless days; his own blood still stained his back and hindquarters and coated his muzzle from where the shadows had ripped open his flesh. Exhaustion led to defeat; he found himself no longer caring about his looks. The new marking of his struggle, which had appeared in the night as if by magic and grown bolder ever since, adorned his dust and grime-stained foreleg. It reminded him of the warmth of his homeland- the warmth that was so different from this cold and unfamiliar wind. The air here tasted different and the sky seemed to take on a new hue. Life here was unnatural. But then again, life here was living. The cold mountain wind that tore through the trees made the forest whistle and hum all about him. The faint cries of birds in the distance painted the scenery with a vivaciousness that the grey trotter could not ever remember seeing- not because he had not seen it, but simply because he had forgotten it existed. He flinched at every passing of shadow across his body as he pulled himself forward through the unfamiliar wood; he watched the noon shadows ahead with wary, pale blue eyes. He could be safe here, he thought. He could be free and, at last, he could live. He only hoped that he still wanted to.  |
