I’m a queen bee - any

[magnus]

we all carry these things that no one else can see
they hold us down like anchors; they drown us out at sea

In his former life, the field had become something of a second home. One of his talents had been in recruiting; it was one of the few ways that he had been able to actually contribute to Heaven. He had never particularly fit the white knight mold of the kingdom—in fact, it had often fit him like a second skin shrunk too tight—but he had grown to love it. If only because he had loved her, and she had loved it.

Now she was gone and he had returned, but the love for it had not disappeared—not completely. He now loved it for the ghosts that resided there; for the way that he could sometimes see her when blinded by the sun or smell her on the wind. And now Heaven needed help. Even the help of a stallion like him.

So he went back to the field, wandering amongst the crowds with his naturally graceful step. His strength was coming back more and more each day, the death and decay slipping from him as he fell back into something of a pattern. He was not a particularly large stallion, coming in at 15’2”, but he was powerful—his body built for the brutality of war. His coat (dusk and gold) was covered with the webs of scars both earned and given, and his face still bore the handsome nature of youth, despite the decades that had passed since his birth. He supposes that is what happens when you spent much of that time dead.

It is not until he hears that girl thinking outlaid that he stops, ears perking in interest as he moves her way. “Most likely me,” he says with a shadow of a smile. “I’ve found that I’m often the idiot in the end.” In more ways than one, but he doesn’t feel like diving into the particulars. “My name is Magnus, but you can call me idiot if you’d prefer.” He nods politely, “And who do I have the pleasure of meeting?”

MAGNUS

once general. once lord. once king.