I'm just a poor boy. I need no sympathy.
( because I'm easy come, easy go, little high, little low )
He had never had much luck here, he was kind and polite, or at least he tried to be but, it's quite hard to do that with being an emotionless killer. He tried he really did, but he couldn't help it that's him. He couldn't control the blood lust with most of them, that sweet pitter patter of blood upon the earth always caused a chill to run down his spine and their sweet cries of agony. So sweet and harmonic, like a song composed out of their own misery, his very own private symphony playing just for him. Their flesh, so warm, so rich with blood, and spindles of weak bones, his very own feast. Just the idea caused his heart rate to rise in his own excitement. But today as he enters the field his wishes are a bit less malicious. Since he's had a son, and now two he knows the feeling, of love, and he as finally cherished something in life his very own son, something he could be proud of. So as he walks in the field today he looks through new eyes, his gaze filled with more emotions, but he still lacks the ability to sympathize, to love, he doesn't feel those, only anger, and jealousy, and joy have awakened him.
Striding through the the pitiful wastes of flesh and bones, he finds his way to a mare. Her coat burning a bright red bay, something that made her stand out. Something that lit some form of happiness into his heart, red, blood red. The color of eyes he wished his son had, the color that runs through every living thing's veins, the color that drives him mad, that satisfies him. The sweet color of chaos, and most of all the color that pitter patter upon the earth. And so he examines her, a crooked grin forming upon his velvet lips, as his crimson gaze falls upon her inspecting every inch of her before he releases his temptation rich vocals into the atmosphere, "Hello there, love." he speaks, his tender, as if he truly cared.
"I'm Waylan, and I hail from a little place called Pangea." He pauses, craning his muscular dark chocolate neck. "Care to share a name?" He adds, his mess of silver hair playing in the wind, as his alabaster tail stirred at his hocks.
waylan
any way the wind blows doesn't really matter to me