THE GILDED WOLF
The Lord Commander isn't sure how he feels, when those heavy wooden doors close. He knows he should be feeling some kind of relief, but the emotions currently running through his veins are a paltry attempt at it, if that's what they're trying to portray. For all his reckless youth and in-one-ear-out-the-other attitude he'd had to the stories his mother told him at dawn and dusk, there is one that managed to stick. It has been centuries since the regimes had stood side by side, all four Sovereigns looking at one another in the flesh, rather than sneering at letters written at their behest.
Renwick knows better than to hope for a good outcome, so he hopes for a mediocre outcome instead. One where war isn't on the breeze, he's lived through one war and bled for it, and he'd rather not endure another wrought by Gods and their idea's of a better tomorrow. Pale eyes had continue to watch them long after the echoes of the regime's hooves were no more than a memory. A breath in the breeze, and his own sigh leaves him heavy and wanting. His outfit is as heavy as it was the day he arrived on the summit, the leather straps constrict around him in a phantom touch, while the embroidered cloak weighs him against the floor like an anchor slung across his back. Alavin would know what to do, Renwick had never been good at simply waiting around. He would be with their people, inspiring confidence and making the best of a bad situation and it's unknown variables. Not stood anxiously outside god-touched doors as the powers of the World raged within. Hoping, praying to Calligo and Solis both that when they opened again they would be alright. That she would be alright. Foolish perhaps, to be so worried, but Renwick had never claimed to be anything but. Dawn painted the world in pastel shades of hope and new cycles, pinks and purples carded with soft blues and lilacs. His painted head tilted upwards as eyes slip closed and for a singular moment he allows himself to be. To catch on the breeze and drift far from here. For his thoughts to swirl and drift, dance and settle like the ocean waves against the shore. Solis, give me the strength. The appearance of another, or had she already been there? He had been rather caught up in the door after all. Wrapped within the confines of his own mind to not really see anything else. Moon eyes glance over to the source of the voice, honey gold and white haired. Solis' name spoken from a woman who looked like she belonged to the desert sands. Seraphina had been the first Solterran he had seen in an age, and she was every ounce a Desert Queen, solterran steel and white holy fire. The flashes of war in the back of his mind paint him similar equines who looked like they had come from Solis' divine fire, were they all so? "You might want to ask the other Gods for strength too." Renwick mutters with good humor, composing himself into something that he hopes looks commanderly. Rather than the worried mess he'd been prior, adjusting the cloak on his back with a brush of his teke and flipping the large braid of his mane over his withers. "Might need them by the end of this."
HE'S A BEAUTIFUL BOY WITH EYELASHES DRIPPING STARDUST
ON THE CUT OF HIS CHEEKS,
HIS LIPS LOOK CARMINE IN THE PALE MOON LIGHT
LIKE BLOOD DRIPPING INTO MILK
AND SELENE WATCHES, MESMERIZED
TAG: @Soleil
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