12-19-2017, 04:17 PM
like the sun swallowed up by the earth
Night swallows him wholly beneath the volcano’s rumbling mass. Darkness shrouds each corner and hollow crook of rock and shrub, melting into the crevices. The only light is that of the volcano’s plume, glowing angry and red against the black abyss that yawns before the stallion; not even a sliver of the moon casts its silver light below. Haunting glows of red and oranges dance against his auburn flesh, alighting the cobalt of his wings with the appearance of flames. He stands at the shoreline, the sand blackened as the night that stretches out above it, staring into the churning sea. Here, at the breast of the volcano’s heart, the heat is fierce and unforgiving. The temperatures at the volcano’s core are so high that even the cold rock beside Warrick is radiating and would perhaps even singe his flesh if he lingers against it for a moment too long. The heat soothes him somehow, despite its intensity and fervor. The winged stallion shuffles his wings with a gentle flex of the lithe bones, their indigo color fluttering as he brings them in to settle at his russet sides.
The stillness of night brings Warrick his thoughts, laying them out one by one before him as he attempts to sort through them. He had taken up the crown swiftly and dutifully, and without much hesitation, he is thrown deep into the throes of his kingdom - now responsible for each event that happens beneath the volcano’s watchful stare. He thinks of Karaugh, a captive only a short flight around the other side of the volcano, and of Kolera and her insistence to see her mother, despite Warrick’s careful warnings. His mind even flutters to Reagan, to Offspring. The stallion snorts sharply; he is a gentle-spirit, and he values the relationships he has carved from the very magma of Tephra, but he cannot help but feel as though he is already viewed only as a generous soul with kind eyes - eager to please.
He is slow to anger, but he is beginning to feel the annoyance rifle to the surface.
The familiar face of Longclaw enters his mind and for moment he does not fester; and as if on cue, the iridescent blue of the stallion comes into view, a stark color against the blackness of night. Without hesitation and welcoming the distraction (and realizing very quickly there is much for him to say to the fire-wielding beast), he begins to move towards him at a slow canter, coming to stand before him on the same stretch of beach that they had first met.
“Longclaw,” he says with a dip of his head in greeting, drawing up before him shortly as his hooves dig into the damp, compacted sand. “There is no moon tonight - have you found any hiding within the dark?” A tiny smile curls onto the cobalt of his lips, half-joking, but truly wondering if more strangers have tried to cross their borders.
Warrick
@[Longclaw] <3