He would have to have been blind, deaf, and dumb not to know that war is brewing in Beqanna. Not to know that the Gates hungers for revenge. Every kingdom has heard of the terrible fate that had befallen the Gates' tree by now. He is certain that he would ache for revenge too, if someone had attacked the Tundra in such a way (but then, only a fool would attack the Tundra’s caves. They are dangerous, even for a member of the Brotherhood).
He is also not surprised at the gray stallion’s eagerness for war. The young always are (he includes Magnus in his definition of young, for to him, he is). Even Hurricane had hungered for war and justice in his youth. He had anticipated battle in the way a child anticipates Christmas morning. But he had continued living, had changed and grown old. And war had lost its shine, the allure dimming after centuries of watching it come and go. Beqanna had been young when he had been born, its magic still wild and scarce. In that long ago time, he had been an anomaly. A stallion born of two mares, with uncommon gifts of his own. Today he is simply one of hundreds, save the fact that he has lived far longer than most here ever will. He has seen kingdoms rise and fall, has seen empires built and watched them crumble. No one ever stays on the top.
But he is not surprised. He rarely ever is anymore.
The gray stallion finishes his piece and Hurricane dips his head slightly in a faint nod of acceptance. His choice is made then. Hurricane sees no need to remain. He cannot help leaving the man with something to consider though.
”War is temporary. Should you change your mind, I am easy enough to find.”
He would never beg for recruits. If men were to survive in the Tundra, the choice had to be theirs. But he neither would he turn away the willing.
With one final glance at the pair, he turns and leaves as quietly as he had arrived.
He is also not surprised at the gray stallion’s eagerness for war. The young always are (he includes Magnus in his definition of young, for to him, he is). Even Hurricane had hungered for war and justice in his youth. He had anticipated battle in the way a child anticipates Christmas morning. But he had continued living, had changed and grown old. And war had lost its shine, the allure dimming after centuries of watching it come and go. Beqanna had been young when he had been born, its magic still wild and scarce. In that long ago time, he had been an anomaly. A stallion born of two mares, with uncommon gifts of his own. Today he is simply one of hundreds, save the fact that he has lived far longer than most here ever will. He has seen kingdoms rise and fall, has seen empires built and watched them crumble. No one ever stays on the top.
But he is not surprised. He rarely ever is anymore.
The gray stallion finishes his piece and Hurricane dips his head slightly in a faint nod of acceptance. His choice is made then. Hurricane sees no need to remain. He cannot help leaving the man with something to consider though.
”War is temporary. Should you change your mind, I am easy enough to find.”
He would never beg for recruits. If men were to survive in the Tundra, the choice had to be theirs. But he neither would he turn away the willing.
With one final glance at the pair, he turns and leaves as quietly as he had arrived.
There is never a day that goes by
that is a good day to die.
Hurricane
