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08-08-2015, 03:49 AM
Change, unwelcome and grinding like stripped gears had plagued his life since his son had followed his mother away without warning. The first few months had been spent as if nothing happened, working diligently on his crafts and telling himself that emotions were distractions, folly. Then, the dam broke. Midas had been struck down by lighting before his very eyes, dead under his guard, and the open words of a mare he had taunted cut a wound deep enough to feel. Logic and reason could not parry the blow of losing his son, his only child, his firstborn...
He hadn't thought that would mean much, having a son. But, it did.
And then it was gone.
He had resigned himself to the heartache of missing his son and knowing that his one and perhaps only progeny would be unknown to him. Illynx must have taken him far away, and he rested her daily for her choice. She left, and he remained, stagnant and without direction, a reminder of how little he meant in this world. Ulrik wandered further and further from the Aurora Basin, taking the shouldered weight of his loss and the mounting tension of anxiousness to explore and discover everything new. A hornless mare had surprised him with her intelligence and counfounded him with her emotion, and that little, nagging curiosity was enough to keep him moving, for now.
Even Torleik had left, abandoning him and his family for a Goddess who was a downright bitch. In tow, he had taken their queen, a frightening creature of white and red. He would never understand his emotional cousin's feelings for the strange, turncoat princess, but he held no ill will toward the only family that remained in Helovia. The resentment that hummed was a front for his own worries that everyone else was moving on for good reason, except him.
Thus the journey north was long and heavy, tail weighted with thought and mad mind churning as the subtle whir of his creations greeted him with the comfort of good memories. Ulrik inspected one out of habit, comfortabe losing himself in his work, but he never quite got that far. A scent from a dream and a stranger caught his eye, closer than he expected.
He stared, knowing absolutely who this was but not believing it to be true.
The boy was not a boy any longer. He stood tall, his mother's golden sheen marking a body thick and strong like his own. Russet tones filled in where black once held fast, but there was no mistaking this one for his son. Even Kirchoff, startled by his bonded's thoughts, strode up to the stallion's side, concerned at the emotions welling up inside the stallion like champagne held by a cheap cork.
Confusion, anger, gladness and emotions he did not even know the name for swirled inside, an overwhelming concuction with which he had little practice. Ulrik stood like stone, coat clean and hair untangled from his travels, and he blinked, not know what words there were to say. He was angry, yes, but more angry at his mother. Mostly, he was glad to have his on back. If only he know how to put that into words.
In typical fashion, he grunted, stepping forward boldly until his body embraced that of his son, wanting to feel this moment in all of its rough reality.
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