Torleik was tired in body and soul.
The months to get to this new home were long, arduous, and lonely. He had been utterly isolated during his travels. The stallion had kept to the forests, to the safety of mountain ranges, anything that would hide him from an aerial view. Fear, pain, anger and loss had driven him onward, knowing that if he were to succumb to hunger or thirst, or simply lay down apathetically and give up, he would be shaming the memory of his people.
His people.
They no longer existed. The thought ached so deeply in his chest it forced the obsidian demon to halt. His head drooped and he closed his eyes, breathing. In, and out. In, and out. In, and out. Sometimes that's all he could do, all he could focus on: breathing. The whirlwind of acquaintances and actions and arguments since his advent to the Basin and beyond had kept his mind occupied, but not now.
Now, in the lull, in the quiet moments, it all came back. He had no family. He had no friends. He had no companions, no confidants, no lovers, no one. Would it really be so bad to give up? Would his father truly expect him to carry on like this? Would his mother understand? Opening his eyes again and lifting his gaze to the eternal night, Torleik felt the pain amplify itself in a nearly pleasurable way.
The velvety black was lit up by a multicolored ribbon of lights in gorgeous blues, greens, pinks, purples - every color imaginable. Sinking to the ground, the weary stallion let his ever-present awe of the beautiful dancing colors in the sky soothe his mind. Such sights had been visible from his home; he had watched the same colors flicker and slide and wave above his head since he was a babe. This - this sky, these lights, they would always be a part of home. The thought was a cold but welcome comfort.
For a moment, even holding his head up was too much effort to expend and he lowered his muzzle to the snow, resting it there. It was frigid. He liked that. The snow was comforting around him, the fresh smell of it, the way his breath exited his nostrils in swirling clouds. This was peaceful. The peace did not last long, however, as his hearing clearly discerned the sound of flapping wings against the otherwise dead audio of the night.
A white-hot panic erupted like lava in his chest and Torleik ripped himself up from the ground without an ounce of grace to his movements, nostrils flared, ears pinned flat as they could be back against his skull. Where was the noise coming from?
Who was it coming from?
Were they here too?
Had they followed him?
"Who's there?!" he snarled, his voice echoing across the perfectly round, unblemished hills of snow, deep, menacing, anger edged with just a hint of its owner being slightly unhinged. "Show yourself!" the stallion demanded, his heart pounding.
The wings were still flapping. So loud. Reverberating in his head. He could feel the heat on his skin despite the arctic conditions. He could smell the burning flesh, the conflagration taking everything.
A flash of metallic silver caught his eye and snapped him out of his horrid flashback and Torleik whirled, catching sight of a dragon. In his haze of fear and anger, his tunnel vision failed to notice the nearly flawlessly white mare nearby. His mind zeroed in on the flying animal and his dread turned to cold, solid lump in his gut.
A dragon.
A fucking dragon.
Self-preservation kicked in and Torleik cast his gaze wildly around, trying to find anywhere, anywhere to hide. The land was flat and unwelcoming of his survival. With nothing to do, nowhere to go, the warrior swallowed hard and accepted his fate. Against his will, his feet began to back him up slowly, trying to stave off the impending approach of this harbinger of everything he had escaped from.
If he was going to die, he was going to go down with a fight. Gathering all of his willpower, Torleik planted himself firmly in the snow. "If this is it, then come on. I'm right here," he muttered under his breath.
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