As much as he fell into this fixation he held upon his past, this inability to let go, there was an old ire to be found in the stallion of the old lines. An idle mind drew accursed thoughts; a working body banished all evil. These were words he had come to know in the pits, the wisdom given by the elders to had lived lives long into the twilight hours, those who had endured through the cunning of a mind that focused on one thing; survival. This life was but one of many, a trial to rise to enlightenment, so the scarred fool had said, a man respected for no other reason than his age. An accomplishment it was to live so long in the blight of a masters hand. Judal had always believed his words folly; a delusion forced upon them to keep the masses docile, to keep the chained bound to their purpose. It was by the heat of his own resentment that he had thrived in the struggle, working day in, and day out, his thoughts whirling in a chaotic collision of hatred and desire. Perhaps this though, this poison that ruined his ability to find joy in life, was the very thing the stranger had always fought to oppose. What was freedom when one could not even enjoy it? Sometimes he would scoff, his heart aching even as whispers gave cruel reality; there was no peace in the life he lived. There would be no renewal, no great cascade of water to cleanse the dirt from his wounds. They would fester, they would rot, and one day, they would kill him. This, he could accept, or at least, acknowledge. And yet, as he gazed out over the vast lands beneath the banner of the night, Judal found a tentative contentment in the quiet, in the darkness that veiled the great steeps he wandered. These mountains had become his own in a way, distant from the halls that stood pledged to the sovereign line, yet another man to claim himself above others. There was no love to be had in this place he had come upon, these borders that had crossed his path in the wanderings since his arrival here, only that it offered a moments reprieve from the silence. And that was surely the one true fear he had, those hours when the shadows were so dark that they stretched over all things, engulfing even the moon and sun, leaving the night an absolute. Those hours when the murmurs of the herd fell silent, and the winds grew tired in their relentless sighs. Those hours when the memories began to resurface. This was why these mountains held a comfort for this damaged heart, her shrieks a constant, never ending in her battle cry. It drowned out everything else, it shielded him in her cold breath, and allowed his eyes to glimpse all that she could offer him. A beautiful place, one that was untouched by the dunes of gilded sand far to the west. A place where no familiar faces could be seen. To see with eyes unclouded gave him those comforts he dared to take in the deepest hour of the night, ones he had learned to finally accept, even in the gratitude of his only company. He wasn't alone though. The scent that painted the strangers hide was the first to signal her presence, a phantom wraith from the lowlands. Silver eyes, from contemplative to sheer ice turned, the balding mark upon his face a beam of moonlight against the bleakness of the rocks. Each strike of his hooves sounded sharp against his ears, each breath swollen, exhaling from flared nostrils, taking in the smells that came up like an offering. The temptation of this intrusion upon his solitude brought the mountain blood from his perch, corded legs straining to keep him steady, a tension in his girth, his hips, his spine. When she appeared, a pale figure upon the rise of earth and rubble, Judal paused in his steps, crown rising, tilting, so he could see her more clearly. Another breath and he was certain she was no member of this court he had befallen. "Why are you here?" he murmured, a detached tone portraying his utter disinterest in her answer. "Come to pray to your beloved Denocte." That wretched fantasy. |
@Rhoswen YO
