Jackal2 the King of Thieves Posts: 71
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| Stallion :: Equine :: 15.3 ½ :: 3 years |
| zz |
( timeline wise, this is on the same day of the meeting :] )
The sun begins to die, its faltering rays giving way to night, spreading golden grace onto darkening grasses.
He sighs.
What good is a crown without its thorns; how easy it would be to claim superiority over others with a golden circlet, light on the brow and pretty on the eyes? How easy would it be to escape from its weight without daggers digging into your skin, meshing into your brain? The only crown he knows will hold steady is a crown of thorns, and the only promise he knows will stay true is a promise wrought of blood.
Apprehension comes second nature, even before mistrust and anger - the world wants to see itself from behind a film of blood, and swiftly discounts any good for a sly or deceptive nature. It is so easy to become lulled by cycles, ever turning like the cogs of a great machine, to follow the herd like meek sheep, afraid to trod on any ground that has not been compacted and ruined by the hooves of your predecessors.
The world is cast in a purple hue, and his eyes swirl like an aurora borealis in itself. Sinking, the sun stains his dusty coat with bloody light, the tips of his sunburned mane glittering gold. Today has been clear, no wisp of cloud interfering with the sky's brilliant blue vault; a far cry from the night before, when rain battered the Foothills into brutal submission. The grass is not the only one who bowed, the dun muses, thinking to the giant he had felled a mere day ago, his left leg throbbing softly with recollection. It was still ginger, but Willow's menthol-smelling lilypad poultice had eased it considerably. He smiles at the thought of her: for someone who's half tree, she is awfully graceful. Willow - what a fitting name; gentle, serene, wise, like the tree perched proudly on her back. She is tall, almost as tall as Goliath, but they are as different as dawn and dusk. Where he is clumsy and angry, she is gentle and as fluid as wind or water. How lucky he is to have such a healer, and even if he does not know much about the willow-mare, he knows she will serve him well. |
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WILLOW & ERMINE
.arborun lignea .. .mare. ..23 years. .. .16.3 hands.
She watches and she waits as the herd disperses, like stars scattering in the sky to prepare for the night to come. Although she truly wishes to do nothing else but scatter into the wind as well, to nestle into the reeds of the grasses and let sleep pull the sharp thoughts from her mind, she knows there is no better time than now to seek the red king. He will be wary, she thinks, but the gathering went well, or at least better than other's she's seen.
"Jackal," she calls out to him gently as she strides towards him, eager to close the gap that stretches between. His presence is a welcome comfort for one who has been alone for all of frostfall, and her gratitude at the position he endowed her still splashes through her veins like a chemical high. He does not fully comprehend the happiness he granted her, a dream finally born into reality after 23 years, longer than most these horses live. It makes her nearly giddy and she feels abruptly shy, like a silly girl once again, when she does finally near him.
Green eyes search among his silver ones for a moment. She isn't quite sure what she's looking for there, perhaps just a foothold while her mind continues to stumble and reel like a drunkard. It might be wiser after all to wait if she's feeling so emotional, depression over Evers' departure making her euphoria a strange experience, but she shakes her head in hopes to clear it, gaze leaping away from his. "Forgive me... the hour grows late but I fear I will get little rest this night." Her smile wanes over her lips as she offers him some modicum of humor in this bleak time. There should be a festival to honor the new king, but she fears he will have to bear his teeth for some time yet, even if it turns out his opponents arise from within, as they are sure to do.
Politics are such a draining thing. She sighs steadily, wanting to simply collapse and sleep the weariness away, but she knows it cannot be so easy. As much as her mind whirrs in this dusk she can expect that she will not rest. She needs to act to sate the feelings inside her, as only action can exhaust the heart.
"But I needs ask some more of you before you retire this evening. I have intentions to make headway with the fellow herds, if you will permit." She could have advised him that the Foothills have been too long focused on themselves and ignoring those beyond the borders, but it is not her place to say and she suspects he already knows. "Yet I fear I know little of the other herds and even less of their view towards us. Though I seek only their healers to convene with, even as much as that may stir trouble if I do not tread with caution. Will you tell me what caution I should keep?"
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what wound did ever heal but by degrees, for willow
