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As we have watched him pass these years in stoic and justified loneliness, leaving the past where most would carry as a burr on their hocks, we have come to know him. We have come to watch him fall asleep as the sun rises, for the star in the sky beguiled him with their wonder win Earth lacked such. Those eyes have seen too much and that spirit as hurt and been hurt, yet he is justified as he sets with the sunrise as though a toddler in need of rest. We seek him out to wonder how such a gloomy past can be negated by such a will to exist and thrive and understand. We watch, always wondering if there are floodgates that will break, or if he does not lock the past away as a dam to avoid the pain. Does he feel it at all, or has he come to terms with it and released like a dove with a newly mended wing?
The movements were rigid, if effortless and fluid, as his hooves rose above the tufts of grass and dragged his body forward. It was almost elegant; the way he disregarded his actions and the scene that surrounded him. The silence deafened the air and defeated all purpose and thought. It was almost as if muscle memory was they only thing that drove him. His blue eyes held no focus, aimlessly drawing over the path ahead, containing a gloss that seemed to reflect the melancholy that captured him. The rays of light that escaped the canopy above, danced across his nearly black pelt of brown and turned the white that stoles bits of his body into pearl shells. His frame dragged onward, as if there was no destination in mind. He was not mulling over the past or thinking toward the future. In fact, he could not really determine what his thoughts lingered on. They jumped in a frazzled disarray, over various shrubs as though the minutest details were suddenly sirens blasting in his mind.
His pink lips twitched at the thought, twisting into the oddest wisp of a smile, before reverting to the thin line that spoke neither amusement of disaffect. It was a rare thing to have a day like this. Where his mind was not preoccupied with what purpose he should make his own. Duty had always been something of a need in his life. From his birth he had been given a role to play; a purpose, so to speak. He had always had something that was his to see to. Now that purpose was a thing of the past, he lived his life in the odd blend of curiosity and desperation. He was curious of the land around him and the odd creatures that inhabited. Yet, he was desperate for a purpose. A cause of his own to strive toward. Somehow the trials and tribulations of his past had not deterred his will. He couldn't understand it in the least, and hoped that he would never lose it in the future. Though, as desperate as he thought himself, he lingered on the cusp of indecision. Should he simply exist in the curiosity and wonder of this new world he had discovered beyond his childhood kingdom? Or would he always return to that need that had been ingrained on him since birth. That desire to do something noteworthy with his life had always been a part of him. Could it play second fiddle to curiosity?
His body slowed until he stood just between a set of trees that rose up and loomed high above, blocking out the rays of light that had sprinkled him before. He had aimlessly drawn to a place that he had come to know as the cross-roads. Where people decided to become a part of something or to remain by themselves. It baffled him that he had unwittingly brought himself to such a place, just as he had been debating the subject in his mind. Once again, the subconscious was turning out to be quite a cunning attribute his. He drew his head up and flicked his ears to attention quite promptly. Always aware of his surroundings, this had been a place he had avoided for as long as possible. He know that some would come to sway him with their different causes and plights. He also knew that some would hope he was a fool and try to drag him into the mess of things he knew lay beyond the Threshold. His travel wary body seemed as though fresh from sleep just as suddenly as he realized what possible threats might present themselves.
In truth, he had no idea what to expect. He was no prize to be won. He had no power or connections that would make him a worthy prospect. These equine probably new nothing of his reputations and would see him as no more than a rank filler. Some to throw on the front line of battle or a worthy babysitter of sorts. As distasteful as it was, he had to prepare for the possibility that no one would come forward and that he would not be wanted at all. That might have bothered him, was he not fully capable of living a life of solitude. He had never been the chatty sort, and he would have no need of a group that had no need of him. Perhaps it would be best for him to prepare for the prospect of solitude. It was not exactly a bad idea. Settling into himself, his muscles rolled beneath the fine dark pelt that draped them, pressing upward in anticipation of what might come.
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