Quilyan

He remembers the first days of wandering after the fall of the Monarchy. They were long days with longer nights, filled with terror and grief and anger. He hid it, of course, but then, he'd had to; Monarchists had been hunted then, with the streets overridden with anarchy, and he, the crown Prince, had been the new government's most wanted. Of course, the Anarchists were little more than a group of rebels determined to rule themselves, and they had been so unorganized that the likelihood of being followed, much less found, was very small. But he remembered the fires, the angry din of the mob crushing against the palace walls, and he dared not chance revealing his true identity.

Even here, in this land so very far away from Th'orqui, he can't remember ever speaking of who he had been, once. He has talked of the land - he remembers telling a mare named Rowan of the gods' trees with their luminescent colors. He hasn't seen Rowan but for that one time, and he hopes that she has survived the darkness and the evil that has pervaded Helovia for the last several seasons. Perhaps he should ask Resplendence - after all, she had been friends with Rowan. The thought of his beloved brings a smile to his face. She has been thriving in the World's Edge, building and maintaining a garden of herbs to remedy those who fall ill. She is selfless and brave (though she would argue the latter) and he adores her for bringing out the best of him. He appreciates her for making him into a good person, the kind of person he never could have been as Prince.

Zarina chitters softly from his back before scampering with practiced ease along his nape to perch atop his poll. Someone in the trees, she says in mind-speech that is entirely matter-of-fact. The pygmy marmoset is not the sweetest of creatures and often finds herself taken in by jealousy. Of course, it isn't that she is jealous, for she is well-accustomed to sharing her darling bonded with the mare Resplendence - no, Zarina is the voice of Resplendence's nonexistent jealousy, often interfering in most unfortunate ways when she feels that Quilyan's flirting is over-the-top. And, since old habits die hard, that is quite often. The fact that this new creature in the forest is a female is not lost on the creature, and the deposed prince feels her begin to sour. Ignoring her, his friendly voice rings out through the trees: "Good day, Mistress!"

"Talk talk talk."

Trees tower over head for what feels like days one you find yourself out of the dust bowl. For you it's been far to many nights already since you've seen your unexpected child, but what we have been able to focus on outside of your newly found world of clouds it's only been nearing a week and a half. The messy tangles and knots in that thick black hair of yours bounces off of your dark neck, stringy forelock spreading where ever it felt most comfortable; often times over your eyes and obstructing our view. Not that there's anything to look for, we're in the fucking woods, have been all god damn day.

Your wide, cracked hooves touch the earth softly as you trot through the wide, often used trail, and we can only find your head in the sky. Images of Ryuu's tiny, fragile feet, his uncomfortable gaits that make your chest twist into a knot, you want to take that all away from his poor little body, to do anything to make your son pain free. Ouija darts from your side, startling you before you even realize that she is following a voice. Her shaggy white body is gone, leaving you tensed up and terrified, red ears tucked back into that mess of hair and empty eyes wide with fear.

It doesn't take more than a few seconds for the artic fox to reach a tall, pale mare. In her vision not far off behind a couple of these massive trees, she spots another body, one much more built, as well as occupied by a set of wings. To her still young mind, she immediately imagines that the winged one is one of the desert; Where in the hell has she gone off to now? God damn mutt we bitch in the back of your skull, one of us throwing up our hands in an unnecessary rage. Her excitement reaches you through that strange bond, and you can almost imagine what she's going to get you into now.

Your stunned motion pushes back into a quick footed trot, your crowned skull remaining up high in the air, ears constantly rotating in order to watch for your own safety. Outside of your now fluffy and extremely distracting thoughts, you are still that lanky, scared stallion with hollow eyes and fake blood prints. Still a pussy! One of us shouts, a wake of laughter shattering the second of silence in your skull. Finally the pale mare is in sight -Ouija long since had come walking from the brush and attempting to sniff at the mare's darkened legs, her fluffy white tail wiggling back and forth the entire time.

"Ouija!" you growl, the stern tone of your voice almost laughable; no matter how hard you try, you just can't seem to be mad at that cub. "I'm sorry, she's very curious." Your glossy eyes watch the white cub, who only stops sniffing and circling for a second to look up at you with those big black eyes. Her big ears are still dished forward when she looks up to the mare, hoping she had not frightened or angered the stranger. One more wag of her tail allows her to depart from the equine's side and return to yours, winding between both forelegs as always.

Text here "Chat here." Voices here
Tagged: @[Iseult], @[Quilyan]

Table by Frostie