Fang has yet to venture from Denocte’s peninsula since his graceless arrival in Novus. Perhaps it is because he clings desperately to what he knows, but he would not say he is particularly familiar with this place—not yet. Still, for whatever reason, he hesitates exploring past its borders.

The large stallion finds himself perched at the precipice of a mountain, leathery wings hovering at his sides, their lengths half outstretched with muscles poised to thrust him into the skies. But his hooves are grounded, tethered to the cool stone beneath his feet. He can feel his heart beating in his throat, encouraging and pushing him right to the edge—just one step—but it is a rhythm that builds and builds and builds without ever reaching its climax. He cannot say how long it is that he stands there, unmoving, before he finally resigns himself to his reluctance.

As if a heavy blanket is draped over him, Fang relaxes his posture. His rounded ears flick backwards, wings tuck in against his flanks, and his head slowly falls in line with his shoulders. The embers of his eyes trail behind him, taking in the sight of the prairie that sprawls out below the mountain range, its grasses painted gold beneath the sun, and the vast lake whose surface glitters like a polished mirror. It is beautiful here, but it is not home. I miss you, his heart cries—lamenting the death of his revered goddess, mourning the destruction of his people’s empire, and grieving the loss of his companion.

Home is gone, he reminds himself.
It still hurts.

(Oh how it hurts!)

Wishing the sorrow away, the red stallion grows restless beneath the weight of his grief. He strides forward, his steps heavier than usual, pressing against the rock and gravel that shift beneath him. The path is precarious—he could take flight, but he doesn’t. There is something about choosing to walk through these craggy stones that feels too fitting.


tag; @Ciaran  
“…”

run away with me