Death is far too good for a creature like Raelynx. He should be dead, but death had not wanted him, had spit him back like so much offal. And Raelynx, in his simple way, disdains death. Death is for those who are weak, for those who cannot survive the pain and hatred of this world. The charcoal stallion had been birthed in pain, had made it his own. Had made it his mistress (he had long ago decided pain is female. He has only one master, and that is the god who has since fled this world).
It is not perseverance that keeps him around however. No, it is because nothing else wants him.
He doesn’t mind though, he has long been alone in this world. Oh, his family would not doubt accept him back into their fold, but he had never truly been one of them. He had lingered because it had been diverting, because he had had purpose there. But now, he has here. He has Pangea.
He might not stay forever, but he would always return.
When Pollock announces that this land’s god has left, that he had been named ruler in His stead, Raelynx takes a moment to chew over this information. His gray eyes do not leave the golden, horned beast before, instead fixing on him in bland, near-unblinking intensity.
”Pollock,” he says finally in that rumbling voice of his. A test upon his lips. He does not bow his head, gives no sign deference other than the acceptance in his rough tone. He does not feel the need to. Had he refused to acknowledge him as king, he would simply have turned and left. ”For the time. This is my home.”