horns of marble carry the sun
He feels like a colt, somehow, pride burning in his chest like half the oxygen he needs and twice the carbon dioxide, muscles taut as springs and the mending flank. There’s going to be a hunt tomorrow, a hunt, a hunt, a hunt, and he sees no one staring, maybe no one is, maybe everyone is but it doesn’t even cross his mind. El Toro slips through the crowds like anybody else and it makes him feel like a god in disguise. He is free. Free until the battle is waged on the snow-blanketed desert, free until he rips out the hearts of his enemies with horns of white marble and is known.
A folk hero.
He wanders the market now, its crowds thinned from fear and cold but it still smells like hot spices and burnt hair. Hunger is the only blade that cuts his joy; he looks for something fun, something interesting, because it is unlikely he will ever get a taste of home again. There’s a stand open, some plump old stallion flipping cakes turned orange by spice, his mind sending them into the air and back down again, flames licking too close to the colorful banner above. It smells like grass and the strange smells of this land. A pretty filly and her friends enjoy the cakes with some kind of dripping, honey-colored sauce, a hint of rose intermingling with the hot cake. He grins and winks at the girls, who giggle and look at the ground and each other. Toro says to the man, ”I’ll take one.”
this is between "shine bright like a--" and the next day. all welcome <3
"What I say,"
What I think,
