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He steps onto the ground feeling more the foreigner, more the beggar and thief than the supposed citizen. He is nothing as he walks the grounds, feeling out of sorts when a guard has yet to stop him in his tracks. To be safe, Valerian is exploring the outside structure for the time being. There are too many nice things – he thinks immediately. But beyond those shallow, simple notes, he can’t fathom much more.
Instead he’s found himself facing the steep cliffs. An old familiar ache runs the length of his dark wings; to thrust off the edge, plunge, and embrace the air. To inhale the water’s brine, become the restless spirit that turns them – forget and transform into wind and feather.
The stallion presses his wings closer to his sides. His dark gaze withdrawn, as the events prior to his arrival churn in a cacophony of noise, emotions, and images that flash disjointed and nonsensical in rhythm or time, unable to settle. They dance instead on the surface of his skin, taught, tense even as the wind sends her gentle hands through his mane and chest. He must abandon the familiar perhaps, or find ways of embracing it.
Neither option appears fathomable in the least. Valerian has failed in all accounts, and far too many times – that the efforts of having done so, show through his gaze. Just enough to send the glare of light against his eyes to dull. The afternoon sun is all that appears to comfort him for the time being. Her steady presence reminds him that he is indeed alive, and the air that he’s breathing keeps his heart beating, limbs steady. Mind racing.
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