we all wish for forever
He’s shouldering his way through the crowds, feeling like he’s fighting a wave and losing. Just below him the ocean is laughing, its waves slapping against the hardened stone bridge and sending a mist of saltwater across his face. A part of him wishes he were a hippocampus, that he might escape into the waves and swim unmolested to shore; another part of him wishes his wings were bigger, so that they might carry him into the clouds above the mass of people.
Even now they open and close subconsciously about his legs, wrapping themselves tightly around his fetlocks as if to say we’re useless, we can’t help you.
And the waves keep laughing, rushing past faster than he could hope to run.
Very few of the other horses pay him any mind, except perhaps to grumble and part around him like he’s a messiah in the sea, or a plague they’d rather avoid. But the conversations he catches snippets from are largely focused on the bridge with ivy blocking the end, and the volcano that raised it from the waves. He listens silently, but he doesn’t stop. There was nothing for him here, not yet at least.
He’s caught within his own thoughts, listening to gossip and the ocean and hardly seeing the faces he passes. So he doesn’t see the other man at first, not until he suddenly turns and falls into step beside him, hooves echoing in tandem.
”Has anyone tried to rip through the ivy yet?”
Ipomoea comes to a stop, blinking in surprise at the pale stallion. Rip through the ivy? The thought had not even crossed his mind, at least not until now.
“No,” he started, accentuating his words with a slight shake of his head, peering back at the strange wall that rose like a mountain behind him. “You’re welcome to try, but I suspect it won’t do much good.” It was magic that had brought the wall, he was certain. It did not react like other plants, did not feel or look or think like nature. Ipomoea was not a strong man, at least not physically, but surely something so unnatural as this would not be so easily toppled by natural means.
His wings flutter open and closed, feathers fanning the air about his legs. “I’m Ipomoea,” he offers, turning back to address the stranger as he begins to walk again, inviting the stranger to continue down the bridge with him.
@LASAIRIAN | "speaks" | notes: <3
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