nothing's only words; magnus, any

[magnus]

Magnus had long ago given up any dreams that he may have held about peace.

He did not think he deserved it; he did not think he had earned it. After all, so much of his life had been spent sowing just the opposite. He had a warmongers heart that beat steadily in his chest, thudding with the precision and rhythm of a war drum. Once, it had too easily stirred him to action, to heat, to the use of teeth and hoof before words. Once, it had roiled in his belly like a hunger that could not be sated.

With age, Magnus had grown to ease it, control it, leashing the beast so that he could live his life without answering its baying call. He no longer responded when it beat and called to him, but he still knew that it was there; he still knew what he was capable of when his back was up against the wall. And thus, the peace, the beauty of Tephra still felt very much a dream—and not one that he felt that he deserved.

Still, he was glad for it—gladder still that there were others who could partake in the beauty. Those who he knew deserved it far more than he. To watch the land grow, to watch it fill with families and those who were simply seeking peace, seeking purpose. It was more than he would have ever hoped to see.

Peaceful, contemplative, he sees Eira out of the corner of his eye, although this time without the child he had met before. For a moment he watches her, watches as she tracks the path of the bird, as she glances up into the sky, watches as the snow begins to fall gently down upon her, dusting her back and haunches. Smiling at the return of her gift, Magnus makes his way over toward her, nickering when he was several feet away to let her know of his coming presence. “Hello there, Eira! Enjoying your winter wonderland?”

out of the blue out into the loneliest place that you'll ever know
I carried the world just as far as I could but the damage had taken its toll