Filled to the brim with desire, like sipping on living fire, until whatever little ground she gave turned as bitter and frigid as blue of her eyes, pulling her backwards and away. Suddenly cold and unyielding, a devastating contrast to her longing touch. Had he only imagined it?
Despite his resistance, she’d managed to drag away his bleeding heart with her abrupt retreat that day, along with the first true friend he’d ever known. It was partially his fault; hell he’d practically begged her, dared her, to do it again. It wasn’t the first time. It wouldn’t be the last.
But it had been. A blow to the heart and soul he hadn’t quite recovered from. Would he ever?
Time was fluid, ever changing, ever passing by, even if we’re not ready for it. He’d gone after them of course, when he realized that perhaps he was wrong after all and becoming moreso unsettled by his canine companion that hadn’t yet returned. It was unlike Red, and it shook him to the core.
But like ghosts of the dead lost to the senses of the living they were gone. There had been no path left to follow, no scent cast off to track. Apparently becoming intangible to him, they had left no trace. He could only hope that wherever they had roamed, they remained together.
When the resolution hit him that he would probably never knew what came of either of them, his course had shifted again, bringing him round to where he knew where the realm of Beqanna undoubtedly laid. He’d been gone for seasons, years, longer than he should have been, he knew. But the time to return to the only home he’d ever known was upon him.
It was unsurprising that no one stood in the throws of the shadows anxiously awaiting his arrival, while he slipped between the towering conifers standing guard throughout Taiga. The fronds of his mane tousle with his forward progression, and a shift of movement in his periphery is enough cause to turn his silvered gaze in its direction. Stepping around the nearest trunk that barricaded his view, he watches as a bald woman stands beneath the glow of the waxing moon.
“You look out of place,” Daemron offers tiredly, easing himself a fraction beyond edge of reservation. And somewhere nearby, the brush rustles in the absence of the wind.
@[Scorch] I found a sad pony for you. Thought it was time to get him out. Bare with me though, I'll figure him out eventually! Also I left it a little vague because I couldn't remember if they've met before or not @_@
Despite his resistance, she’d managed to drag away his bleeding heart with her abrupt retreat that day, along with the first true friend he’d ever known. It was partially his fault; hell he’d practically begged her, dared her, to do it again. It wasn’t the first time. It wouldn’t be the last.
But it had been. A blow to the heart and soul he hadn’t quite recovered from. Would he ever?
Time was fluid, ever changing, ever passing by, even if we’re not ready for it. He’d gone after them of course, when he realized that perhaps he was wrong after all and becoming moreso unsettled by his canine companion that hadn’t yet returned. It was unlike Red, and it shook him to the core.
But like ghosts of the dead lost to the senses of the living they were gone. There had been no path left to follow, no scent cast off to track. Apparently becoming intangible to him, they had left no trace. He could only hope that wherever they had roamed, they remained together.
When the resolution hit him that he would probably never knew what came of either of them, his course had shifted again, bringing him round to where he knew where the realm of Beqanna undoubtedly laid. He’d been gone for seasons, years, longer than he should have been, he knew. But the time to return to the only home he’d ever known was upon him.
It was unsurprising that no one stood in the throws of the shadows anxiously awaiting his arrival, while he slipped between the towering conifers standing guard throughout Taiga. The fronds of his mane tousle with his forward progression, and a shift of movement in his periphery is enough cause to turn his silvered gaze in its direction. Stepping around the nearest trunk that barricaded his view, he watches as a bald woman stands beneath the glow of the waxing moon.
“You look out of place,” Daemron offers tiredly, easing himself a fraction beyond edge of reservation. And somewhere nearby, the brush rustles in the absence of the wind.
@[Scorch] I found a sad pony for you. Thought it was time to get him out. Bare with me though, I'll figure him out eventually! Also I left it a little vague because I couldn't remember if they've met before or not @_@