déodat,The night was cool and crisp upon his return to the Basin, which was pleasing after the warmth of day. As the moonlight fell over his back, reflecting loose bloodied shadows onto then marbled ground below, Déodat eased into a tiresome lope. His breath became a fine mist that clouded before his face and though his eye shone with a vibrant intensity for life, he appeared fatigued. He had been gone far too long, searching for the meaning that would once again drive him home, though he wasn’t quite sure that he’d ever really found it. Instead, it was a failing sense of longing that had sent his once again through the plains of Helovia to the Basin, the place he loyally claimed to serve.
As gusts of icy wind toyed with the thick, dark strands of his mane, he reveled in the feel of the cold and the way it made him come to life. It was a dreary thing to romanticize about the frozen climate of his borders, but it was certainly becoming easier now that he’d encountered a place in which he wanted to return to. That’s not to say that he was overly affectionate of the Basin, but more so privy to the land because of its purpose and lack of one important factor- the General.
The past was a dark thing to remember, but now that he’d safely made it into the future it felt like an object of chagrin, if ever a term were fitting. At some point, he would have to make sense of such dismal emotions, but until then they would simply remain in the dark abyss of his frozen heart, waiting for redemption.
His lips formed a hard line across his beautiful face, a line that would soon become a defining feature for the man who thought so highly of passion and dignity. He was a proud creature, clearly cut out for whatever endeavors were asked of him, but only for those who’d come to earn such respect. He did not indulge those unworthy of his attentions, but rooted strong beliefs in ways of the world. They all lived and they all died, but to die with honor was something he held in high regard. He hoped to live up to his own standards one day in spite of his previous success… It appeared as though his life was only beginning here in Helovia and with it a new tale was to be spun.
When his feet had tired and his legs became loose with exhaustion, Déodat sought out revitalization in the form of a small, sullen stream hidden away behind the shadows of tall, barren trees. When he reached the banks, he looked down into his own handsome reflection before dipping his neck in order to satisfy his thirst. While he was not a self-indulging creature, he was quite attractive in such a way that complimented his primal ruggedness. He was made up of hard lines and prominent slopes and colored in the bloodied paints of the desert sands.
However, his most defining features were placed in the form of horn and eyes. The two combined made for a fiery arrangement- a jagged blade made of blood-red glass and eyes of deep indigo depths that at times were mistaken for an exaggerated purple. The man could certainly be called “beautiful”, but not in a fragile sense of the word, but more so an untouched, fabled mystery. He shared little about where he’d come from or where he’d been, but one could only assume he’d seen war and death in spite of the words never finding their way to his tongue.
When he’d drank enough to fill his gullet, he lifted his sculpted face to the skies and peered into the wide face of the moon. They gazed at one another for some time before parting ways with silent promises to return once more when the sun fell behind the horizon in deep slumber. The Basin was lit by the soft light of the Goddess’s good nature and as Déodat finally settled into the idea that he was once again, part of this –of everything that the Basin was- he was content. |
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