09-19-2020, 05:21 PM
Yanhua
Long after the Pangeans had left, Yanhua found his dam comforting Amarine in the rain. He’d gotten up from the ground after that final attack, head ringing, and had to work backwards from the moment of impact. For starters: there hadn’t really been any impact. He remembered that the boulder had suddenly changed course and slammed into him, too powerful to stop with his horns alone. He’d gotten bitch-slapped by a rock, and the next moment he was picking himself up out of the mud, but by then most everything was over. Winter’s rain came to drown out the firestorm and the Pangeans were teleporting away again, snapping themselves home to leave the Nerine horses to their wounds. No help was offered at all, though Yanhua remembered Straia painting them a flowery dream.
He spat a mouthful of blood into the wet earth, and whickered out in greeting.
“You’re alright?” Yan asked them both, chugging to a stop. He’d come uphill and away from the desecrated shoreline like they had, but now he turned to look behind him at the gray, dismal scene. Nothing but barren turf from scuffling hooves and some land broken apart by magic. The air, however, lacked the eerie cry of a gull. Yan could only hear the steady pitter-patter of rain, soaking its cold fingers into his bones.
He turned back to the mares and did his best to make sense of the nothingness he felt, but one hard look at Amarine and the matter of himself was entirely forgotten. He fell silent in lieu of something better to say - something better than what Lilliana had already summed up - and felt a bitter, acrid emotion welling up at the sight of his mother and one of his oldest friends living in fear. Yanhua was a kind horse, who’d grown into a thoughtfully kind stallion, and even when his mother had been stripped from him by the Pangeans, tormented, and then returned without her daughter, he’d never felt anything close to what he was feeling in the pit of his stomach right now, right this minute.
He fucking hated the Pangeans.
He spat a mouthful of blood into the wet earth, and whickered out in greeting.
“You’re alright?” Yan asked them both, chugging to a stop. He’d come uphill and away from the desecrated shoreline like they had, but now he turned to look behind him at the gray, dismal scene. Nothing but barren turf from scuffling hooves and some land broken apart by magic. The air, however, lacked the eerie cry of a gull. Yan could only hear the steady pitter-patter of rain, soaking its cold fingers into his bones.
He turned back to the mares and did his best to make sense of the nothingness he felt, but one hard look at Amarine and the matter of himself was entirely forgotten. He fell silent in lieu of something better to say - something better than what Lilliana had already summed up - and felt a bitter, acrid emotion welling up at the sight of his mother and one of his oldest friends living in fear. Yanhua was a kind horse, who’d grown into a thoughtfully kind stallion, and even when his mother had been stripped from him by the Pangeans, tormented, and then returned without her daughter, he’d never felt anything close to what he was feeling in the pit of his stomach right now, right this minute.
He fucking hated the Pangeans.
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