It had been many years since he’d seen these lands. To go to a place where his past was forever haunting him, the memories of places he’d once touched – air he’d once breathed – he was assailed with memories. Good memories and bad together wrapped around his head much like the flies that were curdled up around his ears and at his rump. With a slap, he batted them away with his tail and pulled himself to a steady speed, rolling down the hill as if he’d been born there.
Indeed, he had been.
Once upon a time ago, he had been born with a promise. Curled inside the crux of his mother’s wing, he was tainted with the magic of a line long bereft of glory. He was the only in generations who had not been born with any sort of abilities, and he found that he enjoyed the simple life. And so he had faded into the ether, having fathered one child before making his way to the borders, never to be seen again.
Why then, he had chosen to return, was beyond his own comprehension. He had seen the world, and tasted of the victory that came from survival. The son of the magician, he was well traveled, sleek and fair. And yet, he had a weathered look that spoke of experience that belied his age. And as he broke the wind and tossed his fine head, he was finally aware that he was deep into the places that he had once known as a child.
Too late to turn back now.
These places, they were familiar to him. But the faces, they had changed. He regarded them warily, keeping his distance from any who might approach. He did not know what he was looking for when he decided to come back to Beqanna. The sunrise on his life was over – it was time to write out the sunset, and come to terms with whatever the rest of his life had in store.
MANHATTAN
Baby, I'm from New York,
Concrete jungle where dreams are made of;
there's nothing you can't do.
Concrete jungle where dreams are made of;
there's nothing you can't do.