[open] I'm on the wrong side of heaven; any

[Warship]

i'm on the wrong side of heaven, and the righteous side of hell

Alive or dead, they all become ghosts at some point. They all become stories, some of them legends, all of them a piece of historical fabric. Some of them fade off quietly, some of them go out in a blaze of glory. But they all fade eventually.

The good ones find their way back.

Warship himself has never been able to shrug off the collar of the Chamber and fade into that quiet nothingness. Its been there, noose-like and greedy, robbing him of life and blood since the moment his eyes opened. He can barely remember what his mother looked like, but he can recall every version of the Chamber he has ever seen. Flaming trees and magical Ravens, a brief joining with the Valley; he remembers them all in detail. He can also remember faces that were constant, though their features have grown hazy over time; Atrox, his sire, the scarred Panther King who had given his heart for his kingdom. Straia, the tobiano mare he watched grow into something beautiful and fierce. So many faces, so many lifetimes.

The Chamber is quiet today, as she has been for several years. A lull has settled over the lands, filling in the gaps that the abscene of horseflesh leaves behind. There was a time that the old warrior would have sought out such solitude, but now he finds himself growing bored of it. While he is a man of few words, he is at his very core an equine, a creature not made for solitary living. A mournful howl leaves his mouth as his golden eyes scan his surroundings. He finds nothing or no one, but that doesn't mean they aren't there.

Anyone is better than no one at this point.

warship

[Kavi]

Do you believe you're missin' out?
That everything good is happening somewhere else?

They say opposites attract - but when I hear his howl, the twitch of my hide reveals less of attraction than of morbid curiosity. I recognize the voice, edged in lupine tones: the black stallion who appeared at the kingdom meeting called not days ago. And though I do not claim to know his mind, somewhere in the brief moments of eye contact we shared during that meeting, I found in him a kindred lonesomeness. Found eyes beleaguered not by the war their keeper claimed to worship, but by the absence of others, be they loved, hated, or merely there.

A crooked quirk of my lips betrays my curiosity for this man, lover of war, bearer of strength and vitality, he who seems in so many ways my opposite yet beckons self-reflection in the turn of his gaze.

I suppose I, too, have become bored of reclusion.

The harsh slope of my withers and hips lend a cadence emblematic of old age to the ring of my hooves as they strike the cobblestone paths leading to the stallion's locale. I make attempts to hide neither age nor curiosity as I approach. With ears pricked forward and the whites of my eyes making coy, momentary appearances, I slip past the line of pines separating him from myself and approach at a side-long angle; not straight-on, nor parallel.

Gods, how long has it been since I spoke with another soul outside of my family? Decades...

With that thought clear in my mind, I decide not yet to break the silence. Instead, I close the distance between him and I at my ambling pace, lowering my head slightly in deference. When we stand a half-length apart, I offer him my muzzle, blowing out in greeting and scent exchange. He smells canine, dangerous; a predator possessing the skin of an equine as so many do in Beqanna these days. A shudder of my withers and a gentle raise-and-lower of my hind leg belies my instinct's response to such a creature; but otherwise, I remain composed.

This ritual complete, I flick my tail around my hocks and lower my head, grazing lightly. The zeroing-in of my ears on his head betray my interest in what he might say to break the silence.

KAVI

Kagerou x Rhaego