06-14-2018, 11:49 AM
(OOC: I have no clue why but its not letting me log into Krigare's account. I will figure it out before I post next but I wanted to geT this sup before I leave for the weekend , <3))
He knows the scent the moment it infiltrates his wooded safe haven. Its sweet and inviting, layered with his own deep perfume and the musk of her other lovers. The thought of her alone makes the dark stallion want to vomit.
How long had it been?
He wonders with a furrowed brow. It had been years since he had seen her, and yet…. There it was agin. That odd feeling.
His gut wrenched and the bay stallion throws his head to the side with a piercing groan. Anxiety infects his bodice quicker than any disease and leaves him paralyzed amongst the trees that surround him. The cloud of emotion leaves the stag gasping for mahogany flavored air as he drags himself away from the spot he had stayed so plastered to all those years. The inviting warmth of their (theirs…) Tephran out cropping was replaced by the cold pine bed of the dark interworkings of the forest.
With burning lungs and flabbergasted emotions the man makes his way to her. She can’t hide from him, she never could. Not even with the sight the dark god had given to he ran exchange for the horrors she committed (she had died for him once, would she do it again as he had tried?) in his lair. Its not long before he stumbles upon a creature, one scaled and battered. Red gaze falls upon his own beaten bodice and his breath hitches.
What had they done to her?
Once velvety fur had been replaced by the hard sheen of milky scales.
She made it look good though.
Krigare begins to step forward but there is something in his gaze that causes the stallion to back away from the woman. Did she recognize him? He had changed so much…. There was the spar with Castile that had left him mapped with hideous scars that wrap from his undercarriage to the base of his jugular. Scars that should have killed him that day.
The once handsome man Is beginning to turn grey with age and his bones hurt. Would she know the face she once loved? Or was the love gone… abandoned in the ashy fields of tephra, abandoned in the child they could never have, or the crimes he had committed against her. Or had her love lasted the test of time as his had? As her’s once did….
“Hello Zephyr.”
His voice is a whisper that catches in his throat and stumbles clumsily from his parted lips. Emotions wrap tightly around his throat and threaten to choke him, though based upon the look of her face she may get to killing him before his body did.
Dumbly, he wants to ask how she has been. But the answer is apparent, quite frankly the both of them looked like they had been dragged through hell and back (fuck… they might have been). He can tell now that she hates him, and though he wants to hate her (for not trusting him… for not believing him) he can’t bring himself to do it. The years were winding down for the man and he couldn’t bring his heart to harbor hate and anger for what she had made him feel. (Weak…betrayal…hurt.) In a matter of months he had allowed love to ruin him. He had ben happy and carefree (not to say she didn’t make him happy, because god… God she made him so happy) a wistful soul on the road, exploring and living. Not even his own son had slowed him down. But then she came along in a blazing fight of blind and beautiful glory, turning the old mans life upside down and inside out.
“I missed you.”
The words slip before he has a chance to catch them and in an effort to shut the hell up he clamps down upon his tongue with a raging force. Though it wasn’t a lie, it wasn’t the time. It was her time to speak to him, to scream at him, to kill him if she wanted to. He supposed letting the woman he loved so much murder him wouldn’t be so bad. In a way it would be poetic justice. Kill what ultimately killed you.
Question was, would she?
How long had it been?
He wonders with a furrowed brow. It had been years since he had seen her, and yet…. There it was agin. That odd feeling.
His gut wrenched and the bay stallion throws his head to the side with a piercing groan. Anxiety infects his bodice quicker than any disease and leaves him paralyzed amongst the trees that surround him. The cloud of emotion leaves the stag gasping for mahogany flavored air as he drags himself away from the spot he had stayed so plastered to all those years. The inviting warmth of their (theirs…) Tephran out cropping was replaced by the cold pine bed of the dark interworkings of the forest.
With burning lungs and flabbergasted emotions the man makes his way to her. She can’t hide from him, she never could. Not even with the sight the dark god had given to he ran exchange for the horrors she committed (she had died for him once, would she do it again as he had tried?) in his lair. Its not long before he stumbles upon a creature, one scaled and battered. Red gaze falls upon his own beaten bodice and his breath hitches.
What had they done to her?
Once velvety fur had been replaced by the hard sheen of milky scales.
She made it look good though.
Krigare begins to step forward but there is something in his gaze that causes the stallion to back away from the woman. Did she recognize him? He had changed so much…. There was the spar with Castile that had left him mapped with hideous scars that wrap from his undercarriage to the base of his jugular. Scars that should have killed him that day.
The once handsome man Is beginning to turn grey with age and his bones hurt. Would she know the face she once loved? Or was the love gone… abandoned in the ashy fields of tephra, abandoned in the child they could never have, or the crimes he had committed against her. Or had her love lasted the test of time as his had? As her’s once did….
“Hello Zephyr.”
His voice is a whisper that catches in his throat and stumbles clumsily from his parted lips. Emotions wrap tightly around his throat and threaten to choke him, though based upon the look of her face she may get to killing him before his body did.
Dumbly, he wants to ask how she has been. But the answer is apparent, quite frankly the both of them looked like they had been dragged through hell and back (fuck… they might have been). He can tell now that she hates him, and though he wants to hate her (for not trusting him… for not believing him) he can’t bring himself to do it. The years were winding down for the man and he couldn’t bring his heart to harbor hate and anger for what she had made him feel. (Weak…betrayal…hurt.) In a matter of months he had allowed love to ruin him. He had ben happy and carefree (not to say she didn’t make him happy, because god… God she made him so happy) a wistful soul on the road, exploring and living. Not even his own son had slowed him down. But then she came along in a blazing fight of blind and beautiful glory, turning the old mans life upside down and inside out.
“I missed you.”
The words slip before he has a chance to catch them and in an effort to shut the hell up he clamps down upon his tongue with a raging force. Though it wasn’t a lie, it wasn’t the time. It was her time to speak to him, to scream at him, to kill him if she wanted to. He supposed letting the woman he loved so much murder him wouldn’t be so bad. In a way it would be poetic justice. Kill what ultimately killed you.
Question was, would she?
![[Image: 20170518-Letter-Library-Monoline-V3_Lett...80x280.png]](https://winterbird.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/05/20170518-Letter-Library-Monoline-V3_Letter-E-Uppercase-05-280x280.png)