01-31-2022, 10:51 AM
It’s been a while. It’s always been a while ̶ hasn’t it? He’s always crawling out of somewhere, only to crawl back in when he’s done with the world for a time. The spring melts bring warmth and mists, calm seas lapping at the shores. Chemdog has called Beqanna his home forever, so the rumors of shifting land, the stories describing chasms of mystical ethereal places cracking open like sinkholes and revealing new worlds; delivering them like gifts to the citizens scrambling across Beqanna’s patchwork crust. She’s always morphing, changing, revealing and destroying. She is a living land, and he’s always been privy to that knowledge. Partly because of his long life, everlasting as it is (it’s been about 70 years or so) and partly because his ancestors are twisted into him, into his very DNA, in each thread of his mortal coil. They were also citizens here, seeing it long before he did, and that knowledge is deep within him. It is why he feels like a ghost, and always has, being able to hide when he wants, recoiling into the shadows, and emerging whenever he feels like causing a stir. His existence is very Loki-esque.
When he crawls out of wherever, whenever he does so, he almost always finds himself on the beach of his home. Seabirds calling out, swooping, nesting and fishing and seals bathing in the sun with predators laying in wait somewhere out in the depths. It is true peace, to him, in this moment at least. Sometimes peace is different things, sometimes peace is even boring, but for this moment the shoe certainly fits.
He’s in his truest body, a big white-faced black stallion, the ripple of his muscles catching the sunlight the same as the white highlights in his thick hair. His body is athletic even with its bulk, the evolution of his lineage took his big bones and made his body lighter to move better. His coat bears deep scars, all well healed but were clearly deep. His shoulder adorns a gnarly one from the monster invasions, and his abdomen littered with claw marks from Gale’s assault on him. Hard lessons learned.
It’s been a long time though now, since he’s had any conflict. Everyone leaves him well alone out here on his beaches, alone with his hillsides near the sea. Becoming lonesome isn’t hard to do when you haven’t seen anyone in a year or so. Sometimes visitors will pass through, but never for him, he’s rather forgotten about. Maybe it’s time to grease the cogs and get this old clock ticking again.
When he crawls out of wherever, whenever he does so, he almost always finds himself on the beach of his home. Seabirds calling out, swooping, nesting and fishing and seals bathing in the sun with predators laying in wait somewhere out in the depths. It is true peace, to him, in this moment at least. Sometimes peace is different things, sometimes peace is even boring, but for this moment the shoe certainly fits.
He’s in his truest body, a big white-faced black stallion, the ripple of his muscles catching the sunlight the same as the white highlights in his thick hair. His body is athletic even with its bulk, the evolution of his lineage took his big bones and made his body lighter to move better. His coat bears deep scars, all well healed but were clearly deep. His shoulder adorns a gnarly one from the monster invasions, and his abdomen littered with claw marks from Gale’s assault on him. Hard lessons learned.
It’s been a long time though now, since he’s had any conflict. Everyone leaves him well alone out here on his beaches, alone with his hillsides near the sea. Becoming lonesome isn’t hard to do when you haven’t seen anyone in a year or so. Sometimes visitors will pass through, but never for him, he’s rather forgotten about. Maybe it’s time to grease the cogs and get this old clock ticking again.
i'm absolutely sure that was probably a boring read
i appreciate you reading it, thank you for your service
♥
