Written in the Sands - the aftermath

[Warrick]

we are crooked souls trying to stay up straight

Another has found them (he can hear their hooves against the ground, their body as they brush through the tall and swaying gold of Tephra’s grasslands), and he does not begin to move. The Overseer is stricken with grief and too weak to move from his quiet spot on the ground, even when the familiar voice of Wound permeates through the air, and even when her mouth comfortingly brushes his neck in confusion and sympathy.

Aurora is gone - not physically, but Warrick can tell by the methodical tone to her voice that she is not present with them but merely an observer, numb to the pain she has already accepted. Warrick, however, is still wrought with grief and pain, realizing that his heart had not been wrung this tight since his mother and his twin sister’s sudden disappearance on the mountain, where he had been left as a young stallion to create a new life for himself. This, for whatever reason, somehow seems so much worse. Diable Rouge had been through too much to have faded so soon - his life had finally been turned right, despite the death of his adopted son. Warrick found a true friend and confidante within the other man, and to know now that he has passed on despite all of his efforts, leaves the winged stallion in a spiral of emotions.

Warrick’s tears fall silently and with deep breaths, wondering if Diable Rouge had been alone in his sickness and death, or if there had been the comforting face of AuroraElis to ease him into the next life. His breath catches as he thinks of Svedka and Solace, of Tangerine, and how his family will bear the news of their dear friend’s death. He rattles out a sigh, attempting to focus his thoughts on the winged woman who now is speaking to him, a crumpled heap of muscle and sorrow on the ground.

The man closes his eyes tightly, pressing his teeth together in a taut clench, regaining some of his composure after the initial shock. He had so many questions - but not ones he would dare voice to the chestnut mare. He slowly eases himself up, dirt and sand marring his feathers and auburn skin, though he does nothing to shake them from his body. He snorts softly, his eyes still wet as he looks on, a sad frown on his great and regal face.

“Do what you feel is right, Aurora. You and Phoebus are always friends of Tephra. May we meet again.”

The woman is gone with a brush of her muzzle to Wound, and Warrick realizes he is holding his breath.

The Overseer sighs raggedly, and without thought leans himself into Wound, seeking comfort from the silvered bay mare. He is afraid he might find himself on the ground again, with the deepening ache in his chest gradually growing more intense, and to keep himself from doing so, he presses his muzzle to Wound’s cheek, focusing on her familiar scent and smell, distracting himself. “My grief is great,” the stallion says so quietly that his voice is nearly lost on the humid wind, “hopefully I will be able to tell you one day why that is so. I cannot bear it now.” He couldn’t imagine explaining who Diable Rouge is (was), and describe their friendship and comradery that Warrick felt would be never-ending. He had been excited to watch their children grow up together, and for them both to grow together as well, but a cloak of sadness has washed over the Overseer as he realizes he cannot dream that dream anymore.

Warrick

@[AuroraElis] @[wound]
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