I would rather be ashes than dust!
I would rather be a superb meteor,
every atom of me in magnificent glow,
than a sleepy and permanent planet.
– Jack London

Sometimes when he grew weary of biding time, waiting on someone else’s orders, Cineviam grew sullen and petulant. He didn’t like anything. If the night was cool, he wanted it warm; if it was warm, he wanted it cool. The fodder he found was too dry, but water was too refreshing. The breeze coming off the ocean was intolerably irritating against his skin, the crashing of waves like nails on the chalkboard to his ears. He didn’t want to stay in the territory, didn’t want to go out. He knew he should sleep in order to restore his energy and improve his mood, but he loathed the world of dreams as much as he despised the waking world.

It was too quiet – where was everyone?

When he heard voices, all he wanted was for them to hush and be quiet. His crabbiness had nearly escalated to quarrelsome. The coal brushed stallion approached the gathering crowd, dragging his legs like lifeless stumps across the ashen wasteland – his presence hung upon the air like bad karma. His eyes were the most disturbing in the moonlight. They were intensely red and made the stallions body seem like merely a disguise; as if something unspeakable peered out of a disintegrating costume at a world it coveted.

It did not take those unusually red eyes long to pinpoint the source of the night’s disturbance.

Two hornless had the misfortune of wandering into the Edge that night and Cineviam wondered if he didn’t just find two perfect targets to vent some of his anger. He arrived within earshot to hear D’artagan telling them to state their business, which was all well and good, but there was third outsider. A unicorn he recognized as the one he recently attempted to steal but had gotten no more than a glimpse and a whiff of before the liver chestnut eluded him. Curious, that he should be caught exploring Cineviam’s home now.

What Ruka had to add to the discussion obviously rubbed the perpetually shedding beast the wrong way. He had half a mind to pin his ears and bare his teeth —pressing authority upon the outcast in fair warning. Instead he puts a heel to the worst of his temper and shoves it back down, only stepping closer to join the conversation. “Normally I would agree with what you are saying… But, who are you to call the doctor and his nurse rude? “ he asked, voice thick with annoyance. D’artagan had the highest rank of those gathered; he could be as welcoming or rude as he pleased until Mauja showed up and purposely changed the overall mood. The herd members’ opinions should count but maybe the outsiders should only speak when spoken to.

Or risk goading his irascibility to blind rage.