The Meadow.
Fond memories pull at the edges of Clegane's mind as his broad chest parts the thinning autumn grasses. Meadowsweet and cornflowers cling to him, and the scent that lingers close to his skin is of wildflowers and must. Long-ago mornings spent stretching his young legs come to mind as he canters, and thinks back to countless nights with his father tracking stars across the sky, and begging for a story or two.
But Raul had not been the most talkative of sires, and the stories he did wrestles from the older stallion, Clegane would always hold close to his heart. It is hard for him not to wonder about Raul as he crosses the wide plain - his mind running through the same meadow, but in a time gone by.
Maybe that's how he gets so close to another horse without realizing it, climbing to the top of a wallow and halting abruptly as their eyes meet. There seemed to be an unspoken etiquette in the meadow, a set rule of the right amount of space to give a stranger, and he had clearly passed into what he perceived as personal space.
"Oh," he snorts, his silver eyes wide and apologetic, "sorry." He is ready to turn and keep going on with his wanderings, but something holds him back and he waits to see if the stranger is inclined to bait him to stay.
Fond memories pull at the edges of Clegane's mind as his broad chest parts the thinning autumn grasses. Meadowsweet and cornflowers cling to him, and the scent that lingers close to his skin is of wildflowers and must. Long-ago mornings spent stretching his young legs come to mind as he canters, and thinks back to countless nights with his father tracking stars across the sky, and begging for a story or two.
But Raul had not been the most talkative of sires, and the stories he did wrestles from the older stallion, Clegane would always hold close to his heart. It is hard for him not to wonder about Raul as he crosses the wide plain - his mind running through the same meadow, but in a time gone by.
Maybe that's how he gets so close to another horse without realizing it, climbing to the top of a wallow and halting abruptly as their eyes meet. There seemed to be an unspoken etiquette in the meadow, a set rule of the right amount of space to give a stranger, and he had clearly passed into what he perceived as personal space.
"Oh," he snorts, his silver eyes wide and apologetic, "sorry." He is ready to turn and keep going on with his wanderings, but something holds him back and he waits to see if the stranger is inclined to bait him to stay.
clegane
@[Andromake]