[open] time deceives us | fate she hears us [ANY/ALL]

[magnus]

— find what you love and let it kill you —

The field was indeed rather quiet.

It was unnerving to walk around what had become a ghost town, the snow settling along the edges of it, the air crisp and biting. He still traveled here every day, regardless of how often he found it empty and voice of life. It was the only thing that he could think to do with the new shape of Beqanna. Magnus had no magic to earn back—no traits ripped from him, only his home. So, in a way, perhaps he did not mourn the reckoning in the same way that others did. He had little to lose when the ground had shook.

He, however, very much did mourn the quiet that had settled around the land.
It struck too close a chord to the own depression curling like smoke around his heart.

His thoughts, however, were disrupted by the loud call. He lifted his head quickly, ears swiveling toward the source of the noise. He could not help the way that his lips curled into a smile at the sight of the stallion pawing at the air, the way that his voice rung out across the field. It was always comforting to see signs of life like that—to see the way that he did mind drawing attention to himself.

Shaking the dust from his shoulders, Magnus moved from his spot amongst the trees and made his way toward the stallion; he was only mildly surprised to see that another beat him there. Coming to a stop near the duo, he breathed out, the plume of his rising in front of him as a reminder of the cold.

“I came to ask the same thing,” he offered, his whiskey-voice rough from the strain of the cold. He glanced at both of them, giving a crooked smile. “My name is Magnus. Bloody cold today.”

magnus