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02-25-2013, 12:26 AM
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But when his heart was lifted up, and his mind hardened in pride...
Quilyan
...he was deposed from his kingly throne, and they took his glory from him.
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They are outnumbered. He can see it clear as day from his position high above the land. It is dawn, and the sun shines brightly in the eyes of those that he has allied himself with. It is cool, a slight breeze stirring his banner as he glides. The day promises to be warm and sunny, just the kind of day that he would like to spend with Resplendence. But she is not here, and for that he is glad. She should be safe somewhere. She should be away from this madness. She is the reason that he is here. He has no herd affiliation, no reason to be in this fight save her safety. He would die for her, and the feeling is a revelation to him. But she must be kept safe, and as this was her herd, the deposed prince would fight with them for their land. He banks, bi-colored pelt glinting slightly in the sun's rays. His heartbeat is a steady drumroll in his auds. The calm before the storm brings with it a sense of deju vu; after all, hasn't he done this before? Hasn't he flown over chaos, waiting for it to lift its ugly head? Isn't this just like the revolution? No - it is not the same. Before, he had run with his brother, fled to the safety of this unknown land, hoping that perhaps their royal blood would return home. But he will not run from this fight, not when there is so much at stake. Not when he fights for her. How ironic is it that he escaped anarchy only to be thrust into it once more? He does not want to land, but he sees only two of those that had rallied to the cry of the Foothills Chief. Two against the seven that he can make out in the early morning light. Perhaps it would be beautiful under different circumstances, but the brilliant colors of sunrise seem to be only the bright color of newly-spilled blood, and he wonders if this land's rivers will cry red tears today. He thinks again of Resplendence, and how afraid she must be, and he knows that he can turn back, go to her, take her far away. But it would be cowardly to do so, and he was once a prince. It is his duty to stand on the front lines of battle, to throw himself heart and soul into it, and to depend on skill to get him out. A little prayer never hurt, though, and he quickly mutters something to the God of the Earth, said to be the kindest in this land. His bonded is buried in his mane as he lands gracefully beside the dappled grey stallion. She quivers slightly, and he knows that she is afraid. She is young, far too young for such a fight, but what could he do? He could not simply leave her somewhere, alone and afraid, and just as likely to come to harm. Nor would she let him. When he had considered such a solution, a wave of panic washed over the tiny marmoset, and it had been difficult to calm her. Where he went, she would go. It had been decided, and here they are. Still, he is more afraid for her life than his own, and again he finds himself wishing he could have left her in a tree somewhere. He has been trained for battle, and he knows that some of the aerial combat he might meet on this battlefield would leave her scrambling. For the umpteenth time, he reminds her to hold on, tightly, and she chitters something that sounds like an agreement. And they wait. |
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Please tag Quilyan in all replies.
Use of force and/or magic (with the exception of death) is allowed at all times.
Want to plot with Quilyan? Visit his plot page here!
Use of force and/or magic (with the exception of death) is allowed at all times.
Want to plot with Quilyan? Visit his plot page here!
