Private Crows are meant to Fly

To hold my tongue except when I try to pray...

Ache. Restlessness. Reinhart was tired of the frivolous activities spewed by his family. He had snuck away from one of their more prominent balls to seek out an old acquaintance. A man who had tried to recruit him many times over, and now he was the only one left active in Denocte. A crow. Raum was dead. He knew nothing of Acton. Raglan was all that was left. The flavors of ridicule and criticism were fresh on the tongue of the adept thief. The noble son cast a glance back toward the disappearing tower that his family called home. No matter where he was in Denocte, he could always see that damned tower. It was lit up, and to an outsider, it might look cozy. Lit from the inside with a dull roar of voices wafting out into the streets. Reinhart hated it. He hated this life he had, and yet he felt the weight of guilt about his hatred. More guilt than his father could ever make him feel for who he loved.

Reinhart walked. His feet carried him with vigor, away. Away. Away from his family. He was hunting something far more precious than all the jewels in all the kingdoms. Companionship. He stopped when he came upon a spot he knew Raglan usually frequented. He had spent enough time traveling back and forth between the wilds of Novus and Denocte to notice it. "Raglan? Are you out here tonight? You might as well put up a sign that says 'Raglan's Spot' on it with the way your scent is so thick in the air!" Reinhart called out, he hoped his humor would thaw some of the ice they'd built up over the years.

"Better yet, I'll do it for you!" He chattered away into the night. The empty air. Empty. He felt hollow. Reinhart tore his dagger through the earth with a childish grin plastered upon his face. It read a simple statement. Some might even say it was succinct. His writing was elegant and spoke of his rich heritage. His loops were graceful arcs, much too nice for such a boorish message scrawled into the dirty snow. Raglan was here was the message Reinhart wrote. He looked pleased with himself as he admired his handiwork.

Notes: I hope this is okay! | Words: 379 | Tags: @~~Raglan~~

... try to breathe words out, But I’ve got nothing to say

Raglan

may the bridges i burn light the way

His reflection was warped.

Even in the stillest of evenings, it shifted and shimmered and never coalesced into something that the stallion could recognize as himself. He stared harder into the shallow puddle, the surface undulating and shifting like quicksilver and reflecting the lavender skies like mercury. The light was just right, just right, making the minuscule puddle look endless, a brightly painted void that he just had to summon the courage to dive through. Another world waited for him there, whether it was real or not, the pegasus could feel its beckoning hands.

Raglan stood over an ocean of possibility and leaned too far over the edge — he wondered if he would ever truly fall, or if the instinct instilled in his wings would prevent him from achieving that final unknown.

Temptations were shot through by the call of a distantly familiar voice, and the rogue Crow felt himself cringe as he fell back into his skin. He sighed, daydreams and fantasies would do him no good here, or anywhere; it was time to let go of his sadness, he knew, but it had become a companion and Raglan didn’t know if he could part with it. Raising his twin-horned head, the Silvertongue scanned his surroundings with pale eyes and noticed the bony form of an individual he thought he would never again encounter.

He actually smiled.

Approaching Reinhart at a leisurely pace, the mahogany alicorn’s grin could only grow as he read the statement rendered so gracefully in the dirt. “You’re a cad, Reinhart, and I see you’ve only changed enough to grow taller,” Raglan’s voice was warm, the gladness that he felt at the newfound company contradicting their checkered history. Pale hooves carried him close enough to see the tumult in the other stallion’s golden eyes, though the Crow knew better than to comment on someone else’s pain. The grey lad would speak on it if he needed to, but from what Raglan knew, company soothed just as well.

“If I’d known I’d been stinking up the place, I’d have planted some flowers, but alas, I didn’t want my good looks to put them to shame,” A wry smirk, “What do you want to get into, Rich Kid?”

"Talk"