06-13-2017, 11:25 AM
He does not know how long he lay beneath the stars. A familiar voice rouses him and brings him to the edge of consciousness, steely and vicious in its sound but to him, a comfort. He blinks heavily, groaning as his stiff and aching muscles attempt to let the blue stallion stand. His knees buckle and shake, but quickly they regain their strength and hold him upright. ‘There is magic here.’ The phrase was foreign on the dark, peppered lips of Faulkor. He snorts in response, the blue of his eyes roving the darkness that shrouds the forest. The sounds of night were clear and crisp, not muffled by smooth, wet stone. Balto cannot remember the last time the word magic had found his ears, but as he stands in the moonless night beneath the shadows of spindly, finger-like trees, his heart stirs in response. He can feel it, roiling and bubbling beneath the surface, breathing life into the very place they stood. Magic seems like a distant memory to him, blurred around the edges and almost dreamlike, as if it had never really been his memory to begin with. Even the darkness that night brought upon them in this unfamiliar place gives him no relief. It is unfamiliar and almost unforgiving against his skin, the way the faint starlight coils and turns onto the blue-black of his coat, the shadows of nightfall attempting to comfort him. All he knew were the caves and their dark, twisting mouths that he now longs for, feeling vulnerable and strangely chilled for such a warm summer’s night. He a trespasser, thrown unwillingly into a world that he is not a part of, and he wonders if the magic that thrums just beneath the surface recognizes them as intruders. He turns to Faulkor. They will not be here long enough to find out. The darkness – true darkness – calls to them. It is hauntingly beautiful, crooning to them as they begin to walk wearily through the dense forest. It is summer – Balto can feel it on his skin, the warmth and the humidity, though the actual meaning of the word is lost in his mind. Summer means longer days and shorter nights, which means sunrise cannot be too far off. His skin shivers at the idea of sunlight searing and burning his flesh, causing his eyes to ache terribly and his head to pound – they must find shelter at once, before they become trapped beneath the golden glow of daybreak. Unfortunately, they cannot walk quickly. The new world they have entered is unfamiliar beneath their hooves, their bones bruised and bodies battered from the shattering of their caverns they so expertly haunted. The younger stallion does not let his mind think for a moment that their slow and tedious pace was set by Faulkor; their wounds were unforgiving, and that is what causes their travel to be sluggish and painful. His mind could not even fathom that the shadow king would be any weaker than he was - it was impossible. Relying only on their sense of smell, the two limp with stiff legs and joints through the underbrush of the forest, waiting for the comforting scent of damp and stale air to fill their nostrils. once the king of beasts but now they feast on thoughts beneath his vacant crown. |
@[Faulkor]