The wind grows colder in every corner of the land but this central home, the heart. The massive Arborun stands gratefully at its edge, drinking greedily of the fire's heat and letting it soak through his thin, perpetual summer coat. He has felt so tired lately, but at the same time bizarrely alive. He does not want to die, he notes with curiosity and a tilted head as embers from the flame below jump up to feed greedily upon his flesh. He balks and shuffles backwards, but the promise of heat keeps him close.

It becomes harder and harder to spend nights at home in the Foothills. There the shadows stretch endlessly and the water freezes to the touch. Though the winds may be cold even here, the fires of the land are a kindness that the foreign beast is afforded nowhere else. He watches the fire now, letting the lights catch in his eyes and put a false fire in his soul. He looks so alive; he looks almost happy, but looks are rarely what they seem.

Birch hasn't been happy for years.

He turns away and huffs quietly, looking out instead to the dark and cold expanses of night. It is strange what his life here has become; he is unsure as to how he became a member of the grey, of anything at all. Never a leader, never a follower, but always alone- he finds himself now in a position to abandon what little he knows for that which he still must learn. And sharp as he is, he learns slowly. He fails time after time, only to bring himself further into misery. His pride hurt by Archibald's force, his freedom given to Ophelia and Osiris, his name tarnished by his performance in the invasion, his patience marred by Addison's uncontrollable attitude- Helovia has been unkind to him.

He wonders why he stays. He wonders if it is those rare sets of moments that brought him pleasure here. The gift of his magic from a god and the cold winter spent seeking it, or meeting that mare here, by the heart- are those things enough? He remembers now the figures of the two Avikun, as he has taken to calling her kind, falling down to meet him by the heart. The encounter had been brief but memorable. He still wonders about her, some days- the one that he calls the Owless. The darker mare had seemed uninteresting and boorish, but the Owless had intrigued him. He had not stood for her flirtation then, but has thought upon what it may have meant in the seasons since. Not so much what it means for him, but what it really says about her.

But he shakes the thought away. She may be a member of the Grey as well, but until he musters up the courage to face a social situation as daunting as a herd meeting from anywhere but afar, he will likely never get he chance to see her and finish what they started in the heart. A member of the Grey he may be, but a socialite he is not.

He realizes with a sudden sinking feeling that it is very easy to be alone when surrounded by others.



[[ PC: 1/X || WC: 543 || MU: 0/2 || AS: No attacks made || R: Judged IC Teaching spar/rp. No magic or companion restrictions, and please no two week default. Post count undetermined, as the two will stop to interact normally throughout the fight. Takes place in the Helovia's Heart in the clear and starlit evening, with a strong cold wind blowing a ways off from the edge. || N: Thanks for doing this for me, Aud <3]]