04-08-2017, 10:11 PM
hellbane
It's always the same, I'm running towards nothing again
He’d heard her mention of the hills when she’d ventured to the Meadow. A place for them to be safe, for once. A place for only them. Hellbane would have let her go at that, would have stepped quite casually back into the Forest where he blended seamlessly with rock and tree, melted like camouflage into the world around him, and forgotten all about her summons. But something irks him (something always irks him) and he finds instead that he’s passing his usual place of repose for a land he’s never seen - a land that’s, up until now, been barred for the rest of Beqanna. His pace is complacent, easy-going and without the need for any sort of hurry. The bay-and-woodsy green stallion has never had a reason to rush anyways. Certainly not ever.
He just can’t seem to get it out of his mind that the spotted mare is making a big mistake.
Eventually his travels wind down; the days of summer are ripe and the heat is never easy on a horse of his build. Sweat runs in dark streaks over his taught underbelly, in rivulets over the thick coils of muscle and hair that feather his trunk-like legs. It even pools beneath the mass of overgrown mane hanging limply to one side of his stout, wide neck. He cannot escape it, but he’s driven to see the task at hand finished so he doesn’t stop until twilight begins to shroud the sky, casting a long shadow beside him to keep him company when he finally does come to a halt near the borders of the varied, semi-empty land.
There are some here by the smell of things, but it could be filled with so much more. A smile, the words “Anyone here?” echoing over the tumble of rocks and brush while he waits with hushed anticipation. Hellbane can only hope he’s not come too late.
He just can’t seem to get it out of his mind that the spotted mare is making a big mistake.
Eventually his travels wind down; the days of summer are ripe and the heat is never easy on a horse of his build. Sweat runs in dark streaks over his taught underbelly, in rivulets over the thick coils of muscle and hair that feather his trunk-like legs. It even pools beneath the mass of overgrown mane hanging limply to one side of his stout, wide neck. He cannot escape it, but he’s driven to see the task at hand finished so he doesn’t stop until twilight begins to shroud the sky, casting a long shadow beside him to keep him company when he finally does come to a halt near the borders of the varied, semi-empty land.
There are some here by the smell of things, but it could be filled with so much more. A smile, the words “Anyone here?” echoing over the tumble of rocks and brush while he waits with hushed anticipation. Hellbane can only hope he’s not come too late.