Is there too much knowledge within the mind to beat it back, and work outside the relative box that is the said mind? If it was possible, there were things to think over anew. The dappled stallion had taken the time from his annoying followers that seem to come out of no where to think over the actions of the disease. Lately, the effects of schizophrenia stayed low; he'd even been able to accept some company allow them to be around him at times. His company was a winged mare named Africa who know he could care less of. She was nothing, and smelt of a herd. Her actions were something that she was to keep up with, as his was for his well being. And for two others that existed and lived within his body.
The company that lived within his mind seemed so welcome to his brain. After the disease invaded, one moved in and made himself comfy without even the offer. It was white like snow, and tended to appear to the vibrant green eyed stallion as just an outline and a shape filled with the colour white. When the figure didn't show any idea of leaving, he simply gave it the name of his father. Scinfaxi. Scinfaxi was common to hold some mental conversations with the stallion, but always was the picture of a piece of textbook perfect schizophrenia. He would whisper things into the brain, and try to move in the gears within the stallion's mind to figure out how to work him. Scinfaxi never worked Shajake, for once Shajake discovered the disease was working somehow, changed up his mind, creating a man whose personality seemed to be a puzzle where every puzzle piece hit together, but none of the pieces came from the same puzzle. Ah, what an interesting man he was.
His second piece of company came after he wandered into Helovia. It followed up to appear like Scinfaxi, except black. This one was different and weird, like it was attempting to save him in a way. Most of the time it was to the distance, never close, yelling for the dappled stallion to follow before it would be swept off with the wind. Sometimes the stallion followed, though rarely, did he take to 'his own advances and move about. A recent expermentation with a red gas and a pond where the water was the colour of blood and reflected the image of a lost lover, the pair took to a new appearance, if you must define them.
Scinfaxi took some features to his white body, a mane and tail, and a pair of pupilless gold eyes. The other, well, he followed the same with the black, and then eyes of red hot burning coal. Shajake wasn't taking much attention to their changes because they weren't meaningful to him.
In the cold afternoon sun, surrounded by low clouds and a never ending sea of snow, they were just souls about with him. His exile was comfortable. The Steppe put him at a comfortable place where he wasn't running about having company here and there, for who was crazy enough to move this far north in the midsts of Frostfall? He guessed a few unicorns from the nearby Aurora Basin would come out here to leave from their herd life for peace like himself, but their existance was short lived to him. Like the snow, his hatred for the racist was never ending. Then again, he rarely felt much emotion lately. He needed a change of scene for a few hours, for Scinfaxi was about something.
'Ah, you like it alone now? Wouldn't little Africa be nice to be around? Play with those damned flowers all day long.' The last sentence was more a growl and a threat than a question or statement, and was followed by a chuckle. Shajake pushed the voice away to a dark corner of his mind before the embodiment appeared beside him with a question look, as if it truly wanted an answer from the stallion. The answer would get it to no where, but it would make it pleased somehow.
"Fuck off, shit-face."T
The words came out aloud, something he wasn't used to doing, but he was in one of those moods where anything was going to put the stallion in a rage. What voice flooded out of the stallion's mouth was something that belonged to a monster from a horror story too frightening for the kids. It was a voice stolen from a demon, one created because he lacked the need to social. Let others think of him as an anti-social, rude, and uncaring bastard. Who was he too care? It wouldn't appear up somewhere in conversation unless someone who had met him blew out his name in conversation and that there, was an extremely low chance.
His companion's reaction was not the best of reactions, one of anger with no action. The stallion responded with a heartless chuckle released out to the open. Maybe if someone comes across a lone equine standing knee deep in snow with not another soul in sight, then they'd see that he was just as equally crazy and ignore him. A perfect plan, if he was able to put it out in the open.
Even though it was the afternoon, the considered hottest time of the day in the other seasons, in Frostfall it must be the coldest. Ice grows on the beard he has grown for the cold, and hangs down. His coat is thick and looks ragdy. Mud is coated in it after some time in the southern lands where he experienced a great deal of mud and rain. Knee deep in snow, alone in the sea of white, he must look like a mirage. A mirage in the middle of Frostfall and in the Steppe. Isn't that something you'd expect in the lands outside the Dragon's Throat in the middle of Tallsun? But no, he is here to break the rules as he has done before many times with not even a second glance or thought of he was done.
A sound falls across the world, breaking the silence inbetween the noise of powerful winds screaming, howling, and crying as he stands in it's way and his own voice spoken to an unknown creature. The sound is not what he is wanting to hear, for hearing the usual nosies out here is comfortable for him. What he has heard is a laugh, and it draws in his attention like moths to a light in the dark. Like when moths swarm a light in the nighttime, there shall always be bats to come in and snatch them up. The voice is the moth, the light the owner, and the bat himself. His mind is set to one common motive. Hunt and kill what he may find. Why he hasn't joined a herd yet seemed strange. He'd fit in perfectly as a soldier.
Drawn in more and more, he moves at a slow pace with his ears pinned backwards. Scinfaxi is there to walk beside him, following with some sick form of happiness. When the source spot of the laugh comes to the stallion, he only finds hoofprints within the snow, alone. No other except for his own is there. He recoils, and acts in a way as if to spit fire and raise demons with his mind is his motive. For truly, this the beginning of him going crazy. This shall begin the wildfire that rages a disease to force a new puzzle piece from another puzzle to fit perfectly with his mismatched puzzle, and make him more a creature unknown.

"talk talk talk"