09-22-2017, 07:17 PM
The caves are secretive and so is he, hidden for years by the darkness that plagues each yawning tomb, shrouded by the blackness that he has learned to call family. Even now, with a stranger peeking into his shadowed home, he can feel the comforting twist and turn of the darkness at his charcoal legs, hissing and crooning a sweet lullaby in his black-tipped ears. Caves are not a place for doe-eyed and gentle creatures such as the one that now stands before him, her curiosity permeating any sense of caution she may have had previously. Run away, he wants to tell her, but the words do not come. The darkness is kind and gentle, and had been quick to pull him in and never release him, those many years ago when he had found Faulkor, lost and abandoned. Faulkor had cared for him and accepted him, just as the darkness has. It’s enchanting and hauntingly beautiful, but it is a tomb and it is not meant for her. His eyes, however bright and blue and crystal-clear they were, are accompanied by the blackest of pupils, large and nearly all-encompassing as they seek out any trace of light. His stare, unbroken and unblinking, never leaves the little golden woman as she lifts her dusted muzzle to inhale – he watches her as the scent of the damp, cold cave fills her and when her eyes snap back to him at the realization of a third (lingering somewhere far behind him) in their midst, he remains the same – stoic, yet still slightly surprised at her presence. It is funny, how without barely any words the blue roan stallion has learned to communicate – years of darkness has trained him well, he and his companion both. With an ear flicked behind him, trained on the deepening blackness that is unendingly rolling out from behind him, he curiously tilts his head a few degrees when she gives him an apologetic expression, and he silently considers how unfitting the tiny frown looks on her features. Another breeze billows through the cave-opening, and though it is warm and sweet with the air of spring, the stallion finds a shudder running down his spine. He had been outside, just once – and that was when Pangea fell into the sea and the cave rocks crumbled and fell, spitting him up into the forest, both Balto and Faulkor. They had crawled back into the darkness as quickly as it had spit them out, licking their wounds from both the sea and the sunlight. He remembers the blinding light and the pounding in his head, and the memory causes him to shake his head slightly at her, his jaw slackening with fear as he remembers the pain of being outside of his cave walls. But she is encouraging, this unnamed mare, and he hesitantly takes a step towards the cave opening, eyes wide with fear of the unexpected. He lowers his head, trying to peer through the creeper vines still from beneath his cave’s shadow, his large and blue eyes glancing upwards from beneath his brow to look up at her. A gentle snort, tentative and unsure, leaves his ebony nostrils. If Faulkor finds him, precariously perched between the outside and his cave, he might call him foolish for attempting to step outside of their haunting catacombs, but perhaps not – perhaps the only way Balto can give his companion the magic that he craves is to learn to step out into the open air, to live as he once did, back in a daydream that he can barely remember. He has now taken another step, the vines falling across the flat bridge of his face as his muzzle peeks through, a quiet and strained whinny vibrating in his throat. Even here, at the mouth of the cave, it is already harder for him to see as clear as he can in the pitch black behind him. He snorts again, nostrils flaring as he searches for the gentle stranger – his guide into this new world. once the king of beasts but now they feast on thoughts beneath his vacant crown. |
@[keeper]
started writing and i couldn't stop. i apologize ;_;