Rough and beaten down, the man let his feet sink in the sands which had once been all that was familiar. He ached for it back, tentative, almost hesitant steps bringing him closer to the heart of the throat, the heart of his home, his people. He had abandoned them, his position, completely absent in a state of being that not even Miseal, who had thought of himself fearless, dared to remember.

It is the calling of a meeting that catches the brute's attention then, his ears twisting to the sound of celebration, sound of family that he had missed so deeply. There is something that laces his blood, a whisper of color, a scream of new beginnings. Lazarus let out a deprived yelp, begging Miseal to attend, sad gold eyes reflecting the lion's desire for anything but agony. He had been so strong, his bonded had traveled every rock-lidden path right alongside Miseal and the striped stallion owed him the world for it. If not for himself at least for his bonded, little held Miseal back as his golden daggers carried him to the grounds of gathering. He was uncertain in appearing after all of this time, but certain that no matter what, the Throat was the only place he could truly call home and that meant an unspeakable amount to the Chromed.

Before him was a scene straight out of something magical, perhaps it had been to long since Miseal had peered upon any beauty in the world, but he couldn't help but to embrace the warmth that rose in his chest as his eyes scanned the celebratory decorations. Lazarus flooded his heart with childish glee, the cub's eyes brimming with curiosity and jubilance. Encouraging Miseal further, Lazarus lead the way to the heart of the meeting, new faces and old were all offered a respectful dip of his crowned head.

It had seemed that the crown had changed since his last attendance, the title now passed to Aithniel. Although he knew little of the gray mare, he trusted that any elected to lead the throat would do so in their best abilities. Stopping close to the fire alongside Lazarus, Miseal turned his aureate eyes to the mare draped in porcelain and smokes and suddenly, it was like he was home again, but this time he really was. The Chromed had returned.


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