09-20-2017, 03:25 PM
He cannot remember the last time his heart had rattled in his chest as it is currently doing. He’s sure she can hear it, thrumming wildly and violently – but, in what? In fear? In excitement? He couldn’t place the word, unable to describe the exhilarating emotions that crash through him. Later, he might find himself lucky (or perhaps she would as well), that she is the one to have stumbled upon him first – as seconds turn into minutes, the blue roan stallion can tell this uniquely patterned mare means him no harm, a blessing he does not yet realize he has received. Balto realizes his careless mistake – Faulkor had told him, time and time again, that the mouth of the cave was no where to linger and dream. Anyone could be out there, especially in this magical world that he has just now been brought into, and now their secret hideaway has been revealed. Nothing stirs in the blackness of the cave, save for the soft spring breeze that still filters through the creepers’ vines, the moon illuminating the muscular curve of his neck and the wild, curious blue of his eyes. Faulkor has not heard her – not yet – and suddenly the cavern prince is worried for the stranger, for the black stallion that hides away into the blackness is not exactly fond of visitors. Balto had been the first to be accepted into his den of stone and blackness, and he doubts that no other will be acknowledged. She speaks again, the same word but this time a question, and his frazzled thoughts quell for a moment, and almost without hesitation, he responds with a quiet shush, as if her voice is too loud, for he fears that the deathly quiet that billows behind him will be soon filled with the rasping hooves of Faulkor’s weary stride. Though she may have seen small glimpses of blue and black through the vines thick drapery, as she pushes through their tiny strands, she is far closer to the stallion than she previously realized. In shock he stares at her, unmoving and still, his eyes a piercing blue beneath the veil of his massive ebony forelock that nearly reaches the end of his darkened muzzle. For a moment (though it seems like an eternity to him), he merely stares into the abyss of her irises, surprised to see such a familiar color in their depths – as endless and empty as the cavern behind him. And finally, with a breath barely audible and a graveled texture rough from disuse, he merely repeats her: “Hello.” once the king of beasts but now they feast on thoughts beneath his vacant crown. |
@[keeper]