Eyes closed. The sound of the gulls washes over his ears like the crashing of waves. For a few moments, he was back home. His hooves were resting on the sugar soft sand of the Moonlit Tides, and he was breathing the air of his home. He could almost hear Silverline's worried voice on the wind, the gentle murmur of voices of those he swore to protect.
Eyes open.
They were dead, all of them. He had to think that or he would go mad. Bodies scattered across the land that he had worked so hard to clean. Paladin had taken debris, felled trees and burned charcoal to the side. He had made the beaches safe to run along, and he still knew the path by memory. Every day, he would run along the borders, keeping his herd safe, as was his duty. For the longest time out of any herd, he had kept his own stable and safe, but a force, larger than he and more powerful had torn that all away.
And he would never be the same.
The darkness in his soul laughed at him, mocked him. The demon inside was right. When you get close, you risk losing it all, and he did. He did not expect the pain to linger this long. He did not expect to not be able to forget that place or the ones he loved. Though he loathed to admit it, the death of the Tides changed him, and perhaps not for the better. He no longer had the fire that burned in his soul and drove him to lead and battle for glory, honor and family.
He knew that was what drove him and Soleil apart. It had to be.
And now he stood upon a copy of his once home, lamenting things that would be nevermore. Regretting his actions and loving them all the same. Were all his actions for naught? Did he make a difference? He liked to think that he forged a path for equality, but he could not see it, not when his two sisters were still wraiths of darkness and violence. Forever his past would haunt him, and now even what he had loved had left, leaving him just an empty shell of the man he had been.
Life was not the same. It had not been the same. And it would never be the same. Some wounds never healed.
Warriors did not cry. So instead, he stared out at the sea, a frown on his graying features. The scars on his body told a story, but he was not in a position of power any longer. All he was now was stories. Perhaps a legend whispered on lips who remembered. He did not belong here. Not truly. But he was here all the same, and he would try and make the best of it - somehow.
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