It does not surprise him that he waits for nightfall to venture out beyond Tephra. Where some find the quiet and stillness of night to bring solace and comfort, Warden only finds distress and turmoil. Insomnia now plagues him out of habitual evening flights, born out of avoiding sleep and the ones who are featured in his terrible visions. Often he finds himself in the forest - a terrain so different from the black-sand beaches and the never-ending glow of the volcano that it is almost relaxing, but never enough to allow sleep to find him. But tonight, because her glass figure paints his mind more often than he liked to admit, he flies further.
His wings are like molten silver beneath the pale summer moon that shines brilliantly in the cloudless sky, stars winking sleepily at him as he takes his course. It is so still; no wind finds him except for what he creates himself with each push of his mighty ivory wings, the twisting of his midnight blue horns amassed by thick tendrils of his mane and forelock. His deep ocean colored eyes timidly view the milky spirals of galaxies that trace the night sky, alone in his thoughts as his wings take him further and further.
At some moment he begins to tire physically and decides that he would have to rest for at least a little while. Glancing down, the horned stallion finds himself soaring over the meadow - the golden-green grasses below cloaked in moonlight and shadow. He snorts softly, white nostrils flaring, and then the tiniest twitch of his feathers starts to bring him downwards, landing quite solidly onto the flat, dry landscape.
With a giant sweep of his wings they tuck into his sides. He is about to turn and fix the stubborn ones who remain out of place from his flight, but his ocean gaze fixates on a silver woman in the not so far distance. There you are. He tilts his head inquisitively, for a moment thinking she was addressing him, but then watches curiously as she stares up into the heavens. He follows her gaze, searching for what she is looking for, but only finds the silent cold stars above. He snorts sharply, his eyes falling back to her as her voice reaches him again across the still, quiet meadow.
Warden’s mouth presses into a thin line and his dark tail flicks across his auburn haunch. He begins to make his way towards her, his head lowered lazily and his wings loose at his sides. Upon reaching a comfortable distance between her and himself, he halts and glances up to the sky again, a look of indifference on the sharp edges of his face. “Do you really think they hear you?” His voice is deep and heavy, filled with incredulity yet thin with something like hope. His father would chastise him for saying such a thing; Warrick always looks to the stars for guidance and solace, but his son could not find the same comfort in things that are so far away from this world. He grimaces visibly, uncaring in the way he does so, not at all slighted if she were to see the obvious distaste on his handsome face.
“And if they do - do they even care?”
For too long has he asked the stars for guidance, to alleviate his foreseeing abilities from him, to give it to someone who could handle such horror, but they remain as they do now; silent and twinkling, only stars - incapable of compassion.
WARDEN
@[aletta]
