08-23-2019, 10:09 AM
Tana had left them days ago, and Raul knew it was his fault. His own fear and anger had led him to abandon home, and to bring his brother with him. They'd done everything together, why not this? But Sabra was difficult to live with, and Rebelle had her own set of troubles because of it. He'd been grossly optimistic in thinking that all of their troubles would go away if only by virtue of their family being together.
He should have known better, but his own wounds has clouded his judgement. Warlight's rejection had cut him deeply, especially after all they'd been through. Their relationship had always been centered on turmoil, but he had thought that they were each others pillar of peace in a world too often stacked ageist them. They'd suffered, and he'd done all he could to ease her pain, but maybe that had been where the bad had started. He'd only wanted to help.
And now he'd driven his brother away with his own stubbornness, his own fear of loss. Tana was angry, and he had every right to be. It had been well meaning captivity, but captivity nonetheless. And it hadn't fixed anything. Rebelle had skulked off to follow Tana, and Sabra still saw the world as her enemy, with paranoid rages and violent outbursts occurring more days than not. There was something broken in their mother, and his skills were not enough to fix it.
Nothing was right in the buckskin stallion's world. Nothing he did seemed to fix the damage he'd so unwittingly done. His failure made him sick to his bones, and he found himself unable to stay where they'd been. He had to go. Someplace where he should think about what to do next, because at the moment, he had no clue. His feet led him on an old path, a place he hadn't seen in years. His birthplace.
The river flowed as fast and clear as ever, scattered with the gold and rust leaves of fall. They gathered in the curves and slow pools the river had carved in the earth over the years, shallow collections of decay. The burly stallion paused at one of the slower stretches of water, dropping his head to drink the chilly liquid. He'd traveled further than he'd realized, and it took several long drinks to slake the thirst he'd built.
On raising his dripping head, he spotted another a little further along the river, looking lost in the shadows. Raul squinted a little, trying to see better through the gloom. He could almost swear... "Warlight?" He called out, raspy voice carrying across the riverbank easily. "WARLIGHT!" He yelled, something he did very rarely. But he was almost certain that the shadowy figure was her. Slight and mottled with white and brown, he could just make out the whorling pattern of spots on their pelt, and it seemed that antlers crowned their head.
It was a trick of the light, and the bare branches in the background, but he didn't see it, didn't want to see it. He wanted his mate, his lost love. The cold water flowed at his belly by the time he realized he'd entered the river. Something wasn't right. The figure was too small. That chance at seeing his beloved was too hard a hope to give up on, he found, and he didn't allow it to fade until he'd reached the other side.
Only feet away from the skewbald child, he knew that it wasn't her. But the resemblance was too strong to be a coincidence. Moisture had gathered in his eyes, either from the river or his own surging emotions, he couldn't tell. He coughed slightly, catching his breath after the quick crossing. "Where... Where is your mother?" He asked, looking harder at the worn child. Something dreadful has happened. He could feel it in his chest, but he had to know for sure. The colt was ragged, thin and wild looking. And his face... Raul felt a deep combination of rage and regret as he absorbed the poor boy's ravaged features.
"Who are you, child?" His voice was low and hoarse, a thread of pain weaving through the words. The more he looked, the more he felt he knew. How could he ignore the evidence before his own eyes? How could he not recognize the blood he knew and loved mingled with his own in the tiny form he'd stumbled on so recklessly?
@[Clegane] @[Castile]
He should have known better, but his own wounds has clouded his judgement. Warlight's rejection had cut him deeply, especially after all they'd been through. Their relationship had always been centered on turmoil, but he had thought that they were each others pillar of peace in a world too often stacked ageist them. They'd suffered, and he'd done all he could to ease her pain, but maybe that had been where the bad had started. He'd only wanted to help.
And now he'd driven his brother away with his own stubbornness, his own fear of loss. Tana was angry, and he had every right to be. It had been well meaning captivity, but captivity nonetheless. And it hadn't fixed anything. Rebelle had skulked off to follow Tana, and Sabra still saw the world as her enemy, with paranoid rages and violent outbursts occurring more days than not. There was something broken in their mother, and his skills were not enough to fix it.
Nothing was right in the buckskin stallion's world. Nothing he did seemed to fix the damage he'd so unwittingly done. His failure made him sick to his bones, and he found himself unable to stay where they'd been. He had to go. Someplace where he should think about what to do next, because at the moment, he had no clue. His feet led him on an old path, a place he hadn't seen in years. His birthplace.
The river flowed as fast and clear as ever, scattered with the gold and rust leaves of fall. They gathered in the curves and slow pools the river had carved in the earth over the years, shallow collections of decay. The burly stallion paused at one of the slower stretches of water, dropping his head to drink the chilly liquid. He'd traveled further than he'd realized, and it took several long drinks to slake the thirst he'd built.
On raising his dripping head, he spotted another a little further along the river, looking lost in the shadows. Raul squinted a little, trying to see better through the gloom. He could almost swear... "Warlight?" He called out, raspy voice carrying across the riverbank easily. "WARLIGHT!" He yelled, something he did very rarely. But he was almost certain that the shadowy figure was her. Slight and mottled with white and brown, he could just make out the whorling pattern of spots on their pelt, and it seemed that antlers crowned their head.
It was a trick of the light, and the bare branches in the background, but he didn't see it, didn't want to see it. He wanted his mate, his lost love. The cold water flowed at his belly by the time he realized he'd entered the river. Something wasn't right. The figure was too small. That chance at seeing his beloved was too hard a hope to give up on, he found, and he didn't allow it to fade until he'd reached the other side.
Only feet away from the skewbald child, he knew that it wasn't her. But the resemblance was too strong to be a coincidence. Moisture had gathered in his eyes, either from the river or his own surging emotions, he couldn't tell. He coughed slightly, catching his breath after the quick crossing. "Where... Where is your mother?" He asked, looking harder at the worn child. Something dreadful has happened. He could feel it in his chest, but he had to know for sure. The colt was ragged, thin and wild looking. And his face... Raul felt a deep combination of rage and regret as he absorbed the poor boy's ravaged features.
"Who are you, child?" His voice was low and hoarse, a thread of pain weaving through the words. The more he looked, the more he felt he knew. How could he ignore the evidence before his own eyes? How could he not recognize the blood he knew and loved mingled with his own in the tiny form he'd stumbled on so recklessly?
@[Clegane] @[Castile]