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He does not know who she is. He must remind himself of this as he turns and begins to walk away under cover of snow. Her words fly in his wake but he pushes them aside. They are nothing but spat insults from a mare who does not know him, a dark folly who stands out among the heat and blocks his path to rest. Yes, that is what he will do now, he decides. He will leave this mare and her acid tongue behind in favor of some peace and quiet. He will find it deeper in the forest, where the shadow can cool his coat and the birdsong can fade into silence with the night. She doesn't know him, she does not matter. But... perhaps... could she know him? He entertains the thought only briefly, but once it is there, embedded in his mind and striking boldly at his heart, he cannot forget it. Perhaps this mare does know him, perhaps his tale of failure in the invasion has made its way around the ranks. Shame rises in him, a cold fury that engulfs the mind and tortures the soul. He has known too much failure in this accursed land, fallen too many times. Has anything gone his way? No, he thinks with a growl and a stab of self-pity. Death cannot come to soon, he reminds himself. Death will maybe come soon. But as occupied as he is by his thoughts, the idea that the mare may know him circles back around. Perhaps her comments have some meaning, perhaps she is hoping to harken back to the invasion. Maybe everyone knows. Maybe everyone hates him for what he had done- no, failed to do. Suddenly, he turns back to face the mare, letting the veil of the storm subside as a path is cut in the snow to make way for his figure. "I am no coward!" he bellows, snapping back as she attempted to do to him. His teeth strike air intentionally, but he rage is clear and powerful. "Where were you when I fought on the front lines? And how quick were you to call this land your home, as if you'd fought for that right?" he neighs out in pain, feeling every blow from the battle once again. The injuries fall fresh in his mind, the shame burns hot in his breast. The storm still rages around them, leaving clear space so that they might see each other even if the world cannot. "I fell fighting! I may not have stood tall at the battle's end, but at the very least I was a part of it. You have no right to call me a coward," he snorts with finality, arching his neck and turning away from her once more. Snow gathers in his boughs, weighing him down physically, bringing him down to his emotional state. It is rare that he feels such passion. It is uncomfortable and unwelcome. He blamed this stupid mare, whose name he does not even know. He wants her to leave him be, he wants fate to strike her down and bring him peace. But fate is not in his control. [[Sorry about my season fail. :x]] |
the Rift
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[OPEN] The Art of Introduction
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| Messages In This Thread |
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The Art of Introduction - by Circe - 03-13-2013, 08:23 PM
RE: The Art of Introduction [Apollo/Open] - by Birch - 04-03-2013, 10:37 PM
RE: The Art of Introduction [Apollo/Open] - by Circe - 04-05-2013, 02:18 PM
RE: The Art of Introduction - by Birch - 04-11-2013, 09:02 AM
RE: The Art of Introduction - by Circe - 05-04-2013, 12:29 PM
RE: The Art of Introduction - by Birch - 05-16-2013, 02:53 PM
RE: The Art of Introduction - by Circe - 06-02-2013, 11:25 PM
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