07-03-2017, 05:58 PM
Levi has never been stagnant. He is continuously on the move, watching, learning. Maybe it is the fire barley contained within his walls of his bones and flesh which fuels him, or simply his naturally curious mind.
His curiosity is what had lead him to Kolera the first time, on a damp winter day in The Forest one year ago. The thud of ancient elms hitting the earth had drawn him out of dark solitude and he had found her alone in the wood, making a game of her deadly art. He had been drawn to the tiny filly and her bold mannerisms.
And now, on another winter day, her scent is carried to him on the wind. Without hesitation he turns to find the little bay; her presence does not please or displease him, but he is curious why she has come to Tephra. Her visit could mean trouble for him. But he withholds any emotion, even from himself, as his heavy legs carry him over the volcanic landscape to where her scent has originated from. In the time which had followed their joyride (terrorizing Hyaline simply for the thrill of it) he had come to realize, with some help from his father, the foolishness of that night. The thrill had not been cheap, for him at least. But the full cost was yet to be reviled to him.
As he emerges from the thick greenery he finds that he is not the first to find her, and the corners on his mouth turn down in irritation. He models his self-carriage after his father as he approaches the pair, his mismatched eyes burning as he evaluates the stallion who blocks Kolera. He spares her only a quick glance before he halts, a little too close to the winged stud, ears pinned and head high. His burning gaze is unwavering as he waits for what the blue-bay will say.
From his glance, he can tell Kolera appears much less the fawn and more a mare than the last time he saw her, but her body still clings to its girlishness. And Levi too had undergone some changes. After the sacking of Hyaline Levi had used his fire to cut the thick black locks of his mane, only his forelock remains. The weight of it on his neck had irritated him, as did the mats which inevitably gathered there. It served no purpose, so he had removed it. What remains of his mane forms a black line along his topline, accentuating his heavily muscled neck and thick crest. At nearly four years old, he had mostly the look of a stallion with only hits of the colt he had been lingering in his movements.
He is suspicious of the other male, his stance and demeanor sets the kings son on edge. And Levi was always, ever so close to that shaky proverbial edge.
I wonder how well feathers burn.
She whispers.
Levi
so scream you, out from behind the bitter ache.
@[Warrick]