It’s hard to stop what you can’t see, anyone

[Raed]

I’ll break you a hundred different ways and I’ll make you remember my face - - - He can’t remember the last time he was here. Unlike many, he felt no connection with the land of his birth. He didn’t seem to notice the change in the air; that feeling you got when you entered somewhere and you could feel the electricity, the tense charge that just told you something had happened. That something was different  He didn’t seem to notice that nearly all the faces were different, mainly because he couldn’t even remember who he had half-ass attempted to feign interest in the last time he was here. Somewhere in the back of his mind he was fairly certain he had children, but he isn’t sure who they are. On the bright side their mothers probably weren’t still alive, so he was saved from that awkward encounter of having to remember who they were. He is bright blue, with a cerulean-colored mane that fell in a thick, tangled mess down his oddly colored neck. Yet the color is somewhat hidden by the darkness that has settled in the meadow, the stars glinting lazily above in the spots where clouds didn’t hide them. And as the night fell around him, his vision shifted. No longer did the world come in shades of black, gray and the dappled light that usually accompanied the night. Effortlessly the scenery around him changed, and the objects that emitted heat were starkly contrasted against those that did not. It was an odd array of colors, sometimes making it difficult to decipher personal features, but it was merely used as an extra precaution that was sometimes needed with the coming of night. He could survive without it, of course, the same way that everyone else did, but what was the point of having the ability if he never used it? It made it easy to see someone approaching without having to really pay close attention, and he really hated paying attention to anything. With half-hidden eyes he watches them, his legs brushing easily through the grasses of the meadow. It has cooled down considerably now that night has fallen, but the air was still warm, and a tangled tail snapped at the obnoxious insects that landed on his legs. He walks on, ignoring most as he passes them, and he finds it mildly amusing how it seems that no one in Beqanna ever slept. Everything happened at night in this place. R A E D the cerulean son of trashlip and ryatah