let my shadows prove the sunshine
He remembers a time - long before this, long before the beast and even longer - where he had dreamed of going to Ischia. He had wondered about the crystal clear ocean waves; ones so transparent that you could see to the very bottom of the ocean, with all of its rainbow corals and fish and white, perfect sand. It had been merely a dream then, a daydream of a young colt with so much passion and love in his heart that it had been full to burst. That would still ring true, he likes to think, somewhere deep inside. But he had reached and found nothing; only what seems like a missing piece and bloody memories that paint the back of his eyelids every time they close.
Svedka remembers meeting a girl here once. Lavender and white and as graceful as a swan she would walk upon the calm, rippling waves towards him. In his memory he is dazed, staring out into an empty ocean with an equally empty look on his face, terrible and gnarled wounds - a lion’s claws - running from one side of his withers to the deep muscle of his shoulder, all swollen and inflamed. He had been swimming in the ocean, in this memory, and she had come out to meet him so that she could help him to shore. The stoic stallion finds a soft chuckle on his pink lips as he remembers how daring he had been to swim from Tephra to Ischia just to see her.
Again, a heart so huge you would swear it could fill the ocean.
With eyes as blue as the ocean sky that stretches out before them without a single cloud in the atmosphere, the stallion turns his head slowly towards the figure that trots towards him. Svedka blinks slowly, taking in her form with a somewhat far-off gaze. He perhaps wonders if he is dreaming - she shines like the inside of those shells he loves most (the ones that he would bring Kagerus in his youth, where the smoothness catches all the sunlight in pinks and creams) - and despite his condition, finds a weary smile on his mouth.
“Svedka.” He pauses, as if considering her question and then adds: “Actually, yes,” without hesitation. Turning towards the sea, his head tilts slightly, pursing his lips. Flaxen and blue twirl around his face, salt-dried and crisp against the pale gold and white of his neck. Had it not been for his haggard state, perhaps he would even come across as charming. “Aquaria, would you help me take a swim?”
It is obvious that she would be able to do so and, in this moment, he knows he would not be able to get in or out of the water (no matter how calm and still those waters were) without assistance. Not when his wounds are still healing and often break apart if he’s not careful of his movements.
svedka
@[Aquaria]