| Outcast atk: 9 | def: 10.5 | dam: 2.5 |
| Stallion :: Pegasus :: 16.2hh :: 8 HP: 61.5 | Buff: ENDURE |
| Gaz |
Everyone was leaving. Seasons had passed since Ophelia had left, but she was the first of many. Gradually, members of the Foothills that had become as close as family to him had branched off. They had left the group for their own reasons, be it the calling of freedom or the need to distance themselves from what the Grey had become. Murdock wasn't sure where he stood in it all; he wasn't sure if he was content in the beautiful mountains he had come to love, or if he preferred to leave the crumbling family behind to find a place where he would truly belong.
As he made his way toward their Chief, heeding his call, he couldn't help but cast his gaze sorrowfully over those who had massed before their leader. There were many new faces, but those old, familiar ones he had come to know were not present. His pace was slow and leisurely, though he did not walk with content or calm. The darkness, so eternal and constricting, had snuffed out the light of his spirit along with that of the sun. He had always enjoyed the night, but now he had grown to miss the reassuring rays of gold more than anything.
Murdock hardly heard Apollo's words as he joined the mass of his brethren, though his eyes remained fixed on the Chief. They had joined the Grey at almost the same time, and the Executioner was so impressed by what the overo had become, while he had remained little but a warrior. It must be daunting, to stand at the head of such a herd as the Foothills and know that each decision was yours to make, and the fates of many rested with you. It was a responsibility he knew Apollo could manage, despite the weight upon his shoulders.
At the mention of their departed General, Murdock raised his head. He was by no means as skilled as Archibald, but he had lived to fight and he had been raised a warrior. If the Executioners would have him as their leader, he would do whatever it took to live up to their expectations. "Apollo," he began quietly at first, almost hesitant to speak as many eyes turned toward him. He cleared his throat nervously, taking a step toward the radiant light of the waterfall. "I would like to apply for the position of General."
Whether he would be accepted or not, he would respect the decision of his leader. Part of him hardly cared what position he held, as his weary soul had lost much of its capacity to care. His heart had withered in the absence of Chernobyl, and not even the bright face of the moon could restore life his limbs. At least spring had brought with it some warmth to chase away the chill of the darkness, though still it could not compare to the heat of golden sunlight.
"talk talk talk"
If I go crazy then will you still call me Superman?
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Image Credit
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[O] Our Time is Now [Mandatory Herd Meeting]
