.svg/2000px-Google_Chrome_icon_(2011).svg.png){kind=icon}
11-02-2015, 09:26 PM
Tembovu
His ears go flush with his head yet his large hooves stay rooted to the earth beside the dappled stallion. He did not want to hear the revelations of horrors crashing and shattering the morning’s optimistic pease. But he needed to hear it. Hooves tear into the frozen soil as he grips onto the earth— something, anything, to keep him in the here and now. To keep him anchored on this god-forsaken planet that deals out pain and destruction on whims. Why was he holding on? What was the point?
He had been through this cycle before. And, though he had at first felt like he was starting to make progress by talking to this silver stud, he now felt as if he was regressing. He had talked himself in this circle. Questioning his reason to go on. And he had told himself: Mara and Faxr would want it. And now, in Helovia: Rexanna, Mauja, the Edge. They all were reasons to continue on.
But maybe this wasn't regression. Perhaps there was no true progress, and this was just a cycle he was cursed to rehash over and over. His great knees nearly buckled as this calamitous revelation rocked his very being. The wavered, trembled, then locked, saving him from crashing to his knees in silent supplication for hopeless answers.
He grit his teeth, taking a deep breath of frigid morning air, attempting to collect himself. Attempting to gather the pieces of his conscience that were fracturing into oblivion. He leaned his broad side against the silver’s coat, his coarse hair sliding against Ciceron’s silken one.
“It means little, but I’m sorry for your loss. No man— no being— should have to go through that,” his voice is quiet, low, barrel rumbling against his at their point of contact. His body is firm in the empathetic touch, “I sincerely hope that your father is not of Helovia?” The beast that had awakened in him growled ominously in these words. This monster hoped that he still resided here, it would be a project to destroy. But the rest of Tembovu hoped, for the sake of the silver stallion, that his dastardly sire was rotting in the ground.
He had been through this cycle before. And, though he had at first felt like he was starting to make progress by talking to this silver stud, he now felt as if he was regressing. He had talked himself in this circle. Questioning his reason to go on. And he had told himself: Mara and Faxr would want it. And now, in Helovia: Rexanna, Mauja, the Edge. They all were reasons to continue on.
But maybe this wasn't regression. Perhaps there was no true progress, and this was just a cycle he was cursed to rehash over and over. His great knees nearly buckled as this calamitous revelation rocked his very being. The wavered, trembled, then locked, saving him from crashing to his knees in silent supplication for hopeless answers.
He grit his teeth, taking a deep breath of frigid morning air, attempting to collect himself. Attempting to gather the pieces of his conscience that were fracturing into oblivion. He leaned his broad side against the silver’s coat, his coarse hair sliding against Ciceron’s silken one.
“It means little, but I’m sorry for your loss. No man— no being— should have to go through that,” his voice is quiet, low, barrel rumbling against his at their point of contact. His body is firm in the empathetic touch, “I sincerely hope that your father is not of Helovia?” The beast that had awakened in him growled ominously in these words. This monster hoped that he still resided here, it would be a project to destroy. But the rest of Tembovu hoped, for the sake of the silver stallion, that his dastardly sire was rotting in the ground.
@Ciceron woah, I got dramatic in this post XD
Please tag Tembovu.
