[AW] Remembering Hope

[Toulouse]

toulouse The coarse sand was a welcome change to the seaworn planks of the ship he’d stepped off of. Weeks spent at sea had left his stomach tied in knots. And the fluidity in his limbs that he had at first attributed to the movement of the ship was still present, unsteady and uncontrollable. He was wobbly on his feet, often tripping as he trudged through the deep beach sand, prompting him to walk closer and closer to the sea ‘till the waves swept gently across his fetlocks. The strip of beach that he walked was tiny, less than perhaps 20 meters wide. He paced it incessantly, grinding away a path into the sand. Hardly an hour had passed since his arrival on the shores of Novus—still he could see the hull of the ship that had brought him on the horizon, sailing merrily away into the sunset and effectively leaving him for dead. Still, that had been enough time for him to survey his strip of sand and see there would be no easy way up the wall of rock separating him from this new world. And high tide wouldn’t wait forever. Displeasure marred the elegant features of his face, twisting the corners of his mouth into a gruesome scowl. He’d be damned if he had come all this way just to die on a beach, abandoned by a crew of over-sensitive sailors who had gone back on their agreement to him. He tilted his head back to survey the cliffside again. Any paths that might have once existed were worn away by the sea and the wind, the rock smooth and wet and downright slippery beneath his fatigued legs. By all accounts it seemed hopeless. But his seafoam eyes never wavered, moving slowly, deliberately, from one side to the next. He wasn’t sure how long he stood and stared—sweat had begun to drip down his sides in the afternoon heat—before finally it came to him. A sliver of a landing carved away to something nearly flat, way down the beach. It was outside of his strip of sand, but it was still something. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ The water was cold against his legs as he set out, slapping the underside of his belly, staining his skin dark. Toulouse paid it no mind, focusing on planting one foot after the other, reaching blindly for the next step, and the next, and the next, and the— He was plunged into the water, the sand giving way beneath him in a sheer drop off. It cascaded over his head, closing in around him, cutting him off from air for a brief moment before he fought his way back to the surface, teeth bared. Swimming had never been his strong suit, being far more accustomed to land than water, but still he forced his way through, his muscles straining and screaming as he fought the current that threatened to slam him back against the rocks. The few minutes he was submerged felt like hours, until finally, finally he scrambled upon solid ground once more. He planted his hooves upon it, breathing heavily, rivulets of water coursing down his long face. He flung his head, droplets spraying everywhere as he shook the water from his eyes so that he could get a proper look at his surroundings. He stood at the edge of a small cove now, the strip of sand even slimmer than the one he’d been on before, closer now than ever to the path that might lead him to safety. It was clearer now, a definite trail marked into the wall of rock, leading higher and higher to what he presumed might be the top. He was about to take it, to begin his climb to Novus, when a flicker of life caught his attention. A mare, with a sunbleached coat that may have once been beautiful lay still on her side, nearly appearing dead. But her ribcage continued to rise and fall steadily, if not subtly. She was alive. Perhaps barely, but living nonetheless. He could have just turned away. Could have rushed straight to the path he sought and followed it up, and up, and up, away from the sea-soaked rag doll, out of sight, out of mind. And yet… A gasp of exaggerated concern rushed past his lips, twisted down as they were now in an expression of shock. He was upon her in an instant, his pale nose lowered delicately to her side as he checked her over for injuries. “Hello, miss? Can you hear me?” Was she stirring, or had he only imagined it? There was no way to be sure, but nor did Toulouse really care. Perhaps if she lived he might gain some sort of benefit, a tale of a hero, a reputation as a knight in shining—albeit sodden—armor. But if she died, he would simply forget her, move on without a word, never speaking of his time on this damned beach. But he’d never been one to not at least try. The tips of his hair brushed across her dry, salt-encrusted skin, so close was he to her now. “Miss..?” the motherland don't love you, the fatherland dont love you. so why love anything? the faithless; they dont love you the zealous hearts dont love you. and that's not gonna change. ut deo. @annabeth !  oml sorry for the novel ;o;  "here am I!"

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