His story starts in a forest somewhere, probably the Meadow, and he imagines that it was nearing dark. That odd time between day and night, when both the sun and the moon hang low in the sky. It was quiet, he thinks, when the two lost souls of his parents bumped into one another. Perhaps bumped wasn’t the right word; they crashed into one another, a comet meeting the earth with the all-consuming fire hanging behind it. It had been tumultuous, forbidden, but passionate none the less. They had loved with a love that was more than a love. One of them, Oceanus, had sought to make their relationship more than smooth whispers and teeth on skin. Bless him, for he had been known to be a fool when it came to love. He had sought out the assistance of a magician, making deals and promises of the most lethal kind. And so Oceanus the stallion became Oceanus the mare, and now he (she?) could be with Garbage, his (her?) love. And so in the quiet of the night some years ago, Mast had been conceived. Just short of a year after that date, the gray now-mare Oceanus had fallen on the Beach, heavy in foal. Mast had been born, and before he had gained his legs his mother had been dead. It was his only memory of her, seeing the blood flow so freely from her (his?) open jugular.
The Gates have saved him. The gates have given him more than just a place to lay his head; it has given him purpose. He is forever in her debt, king or not. This land is where he will live eternally. And so he slips through her forests and meadows, laying himself occasionally against the trees in the way a friendly cat might lean against its masters legs. Night has fallen, and the sound of Whip ‘Or Whils and crickets is a soothing sound. Somewhere an owl calls, mournful and low. The gray king smiles, his eyes half closed. It is then something catches is eye. A mare in the distance, standing dappled in moonlight that filtered through the trees. She is completely silent, and the only movement he could even hope to see was the rise and fall of her barrel through breathing. It does not take him long to reach the stranger, taking note of the over all wildness of her. He clears his throat so as to give her some warning of his impending approach. “Hello there, miss. Welcome to the Gates.” he says, friendly despite this being an odd time to appear in a kingdom. “I’m Mast. Care to give me a name? Forgive me if I’ve interrupted your thoughts.” And so he waits, eyes soft as the smile on his lips.
mast
be my asleep at last