Sunsetter [laura pony, any]

[magnus]

magnus

howling ghosts, they reappear
in mountains that are stacked with fear

Magnus is not often in the meadow. It is more often that the golden stallion finds himself wandering the border of his home or making his way to the field, introducing himself to the lost souls who find themselves there, doing his part to guide them home. But today, he changes his pattern, established as they are, veering left instead of right on his way out of his volcanic home. The path leads him toward the meadow, the grass turning more lush, the vegetation blooming in new and familiar ways. The sight brings a strange buoyancy to him, his heart strangely light as he finds himself on the brink of the other land.

Throughout the years, Magnus had experienced more pain than one ought to. He has experienced death, loss, betrayal. He felt deep-seated guilt for it all—for the ways he could have prevented it.

Still, today, he shed the guilt. Shed the ache that so often permeated his bones.

Instead, he tipped his head back, letting the sun wash over him, warming him from the inside out.

When he brings his head back down, his eyes widen slightly at the side of the blood bay.

For a moment, amusement crosses over his face and he presses his lips together in thought before he sighs, shaking the dust from his coat and making his way toward the stallion. Neither friend nor foe and always something different entirely, Magnus cannot stop himself from raising a metaphorical brow at the creature the necromancer has erected at his side. “You always were one for the dramatic entrances, Nymphetamine.” He still remembers the young colt in the field, so hungry to prove himself, so hungry to make his mark. Magnus couldn’t help but wonder if perhaps he’d failed him in not shielding him better.

“It’s been a long time.” He pauses, crooked smile touching his inky lips. “How have you been?”

but you're a king and I'm a lionheart