12-22-2017, 02:56 PM
like the sun swallowed up by the earth
He wonders if she dreams of him, the way he dreams of her. Sleep rarely finds him, and when it does, it is fitful and fleeting - a few hours rest, maybe. He hadn’t slept soundly since he had laid down in the open plains with her, beneath millions of stars and unfiltered moonlight, without the hazy smoke of the volcano he knows so well. On nights like this one, where he wants nothing more than to rest his weary body but his mind will not allow it, he will come to the grotto to stand within its humid moisture and still waters, warmed by the belly of the volcano closely on the other side.
Tonight, as his navy wings fold tightly into his sides so that he may squeeze down the worn path that he follows blindly, a scent that is not at all expected drifts to him, and his slow walk hesitates momentarily.
It is a dream - he must be sleeping, for there is no way it could be (but of course it is). Warrick begins to move again, his nostrils flaring as he brushes his lips against the warm stone hearth, fresh with her scent. Not only does his heart call out to her, but his soul as well, but he still continues to move slowly and with deliberate purpose, afraid that his mind is playing tricks on him and that he would come into the grotto and find only emptiness, like he has found every night for many, many moons.
She is staring into the depths of the still waters, a familiar figure of gold and black and white, when the path opens up. He stands for a moment, his breath caught in his throat, sure that the image of her will waver and fade away, melting into nothingness to leave him once more. His chest tightens at the sight of her, and somehow he is able to remain silent even though his mind is screaming for him to move towards her, to close the space between them and to never part from her.
A few moments pass and when her figure remains solid, he moves slowly towards her, his dark hooves clicking on the smooth stone of the grotto. She must have heard him, or seen his reflection in the brilliant pool, for she breathes his name and turns to look at him, delight in her eyes.
Finally, the winged-stallion is at peace once again.
He is near her at once, at her side with a deep nicker rumbling in his throat. He’s running his muzzle along her shoulder and neck, huffing gently and deliberately as he inhales the smell of her, leaving tender kisses on her ivory and honey-gold skin, while the darkness of her mane falls across his face. His wings flutter at his sides, smooth velvet against her as one stretches to drape over her back, bending around her to pull himself closer to her, their sides coming together in a perfect fit.
“Tangerine,” he says breathlessly, inhaling the scent of the wildness of the plains that still clings to her, tracing the soft slope of her cheek with cobalt lips before pressing into her muzzle with a loving, strong kiss. He knows she will always return, but each time she does, it is as if he will never see her again. “I am whole again,” his voice quivers, auburn lids closing over tired eyes, feeling as though sleep would finally come to him, but too exhilarated by her presence to allow it just yet.
The crown, his people, the country of Tephra - all of it fades away and he is left only with thoughts of her, and their children, as the warmth of the volcano pulsates against them.
Warrick
@[Tangerine]
omggggg <3333