rhonen

molten eyes and a smile made for war

Still, he is alone.

Rhonen has begun to wonder if he will ever find a home, or if he is destined to be alone since he lost his family. Perhaps he is only half of a person without his twin, and nobody wants half a person as a friend or anything else. There is only Atrani, and while he loves her quite dearly and always returns to her side, it is not the same as having a home. A whole family.

His family.

Everything would change for him if he knew he had a nephew wandering around Beqanna; if he knew that Nairne had left a son behind here, if he even knew Nairne had been here. But their paths had not crossed – Beqanna was too big a place, and even though they like to pretend they’ll just KNOW when family is about, it’s not true. It had always just been – return to the Falls, and the family will find you. But since the Falls are no more, they have no homing beacon. Their line is finally lost, to wander like so many others.

If you’re into dark tragedies, he’s sure it would make a great one.

Today he is in the Forest, tucked away in the dark. Dark like his encroaching loneliness, if you think like that. (Rhonen does). Unfortunately not dark like his coat, because even in the gloom the chestnut with the slightest akhal-teke shimmer and high white points shines like a beacon.

His exterior certainly doesn’t match his interior thoughts, or even the scowl currently plastered on his face while he stalks under the trees, going nowhere in particular, muttering to himself about how much life sucks.

rhonen

molten eyes and a smile made for war

He is lost in his own thoughts one moment, the mumbling and grumbling as he stomps his way across the forest, but a sense of motion, something sighted out of the corner of his eye, pulls Rhonen quickly and firmly out of his thoughts and into the present. He freezes, going entirely motionless except for his head, which comes up quickly; ears flicking back and forth, eyes wide to take in the gloom and shadows, nostrils flared to catch any spare scent. The actions of a man who has experienced a living nightmare, and still has the repeat nightmares to remind him.

A man who has been attacked before.

It doesn't take an extraordinarily long time for him to spot the mare, though it takes him longer than he thinks it should. That makes him uncomfortable, uncertain, and he response instinctively to those unfortunate feelings bu lashing out, at least verbally. "Hey!" the word is drawn from him in a growly tone, tension vibrating through his entire coppery body. But - that's not right. He knows it's not right; encountering a stranger in the gloom doesn't mean that stranger is planning to try and destroy the world. She hasn't done anything to him, there is no heartbeat of the world under his hooves, no scent of death and decay under his nose.

Rhonen takes a deep breath, forces himself to lower his head to a neutral position. Some of the tension bleeds away accordingly and he calls out again, voice still gravely but calmer. "Sorry I mean - sorry. You just startled me. I maybe overreacted." he waits a moment, hoping she will turn back towards him, give him a second change. Immediately wonders why he cares - it's not like she's Atrani. Not Aubri. Not Nairne. Still something prompts him to add - "I'm Rhonen."

rhonen

molten eyes and a smile made for war

Rhonen was a normal boy – the next in a long line of legacy for the Falls. Perhaps he might have been the first King of his line, rather than their many Queens. Maybe it had been his mother’s dream to leave Rhonen to the Falls and Aubri to their father’s Kingdom, two coppery-bright royal children to usher in the next age of royalty in the Falls and the Deserts. But the world had begun to change around them, and Mikhael and Natilyn took their family out of Beqanna – Rhonen should have gone, but he had answered magic’s call and it had changed him forever.

She is magic by nature, and in this dark place he can sense it. Perhaps it is true he will remember only what she wants him to remember, but for now everything is fever-bright in the gloom. Well, everything except the mare’s eyes, which seem unfitting for the rest of her. “Reagan,” he repeats, tasting the word on his tongue and in the back of his throat. It reminds him of grandmother’s – and so he wonders. Some would believe that names have no power, but Reagan’s name has the same old-time power flavor of Yael’s. Something he would never tell anyone else, but he believes it in his gut.

Even if she is magic, he cannot bring himself to be afraid.

“Maybe because this part of the world is good for people who are running.” That’s not right, though, not any more than yelling at Reagan had been right. “I’m not running. But I’m certainly tired of looking and not finding.” Looking for his family. Looking for a home that is like the Falls. Looking for a friend. Looking for an escape from the nightmares. Oh. “I could be running from the nightmares,” he says thoughtfully, tilting his head. “I can’t dream if I don’t sleep.”