Raglan
may the bridges i burn light the way
Something about a sea of sand was both terrifyingly unknowable and comfortably quiet, and amid a blanket of stars and the humming of nocturnal insects, Raglan felt both sensations acutely. He was only a half mile or so from the capitol city of Solterra, and yet the stallion couldn’t help but feel as if he were the lone occupant of an entire nation. Breathing deep, silvery eyes still transfixed on the distant lights hanging in the heavens, the Crow tucked his wings tighter against his sides, resisting the urge to speak to Caligo — resisting the desire to have Her eyes upon him once more, to have Her see him as he truly was and to know he was still Her son.
Blackened lips parted, a tiny, raw gasp escaping from Raglan’s chest as his resolve nearly broke and the act of resistance shot a finger of pain ricocheting along his spine. So deep, was this fear of feeling, that the stallion considered it akin to falling — primal, all-consuming, inescapable. And while a true fall had never horrified Raglan, for he trusted his great feathered wings, the thought of stepping over an invisible line and into the depthless ravine within himself was a terror that he could not justify.
At the sound of hooves brushing over sad and a shuddering breath that was not his own, Raglan startled. Blinking rapidly, as if to clear his vision of the concept of grief, the Silvertongue lowered his gaze to find he had been joined by a long-eared mare. Dressed was she in shades of cool evening, with gold clinging to her knees and dripping down her face. The stranger was short, though not stocky, with eyes of gold that were not unkind and a tilt to her mouth that implied that while she may not smile often, the smiles she offered would be as pretty as she.
It made him wonder if she was thankful to her deity, for bringing her to earth after being so lovingly wrought.
So easy it would be for the pegasus to slip back into old habits, to don the cloth of jester and take up his role as charming rogue. Yet, the thought of hiding himself beneath the gaze of this unknown woman felt dangerously similar to sacrilege, and Raglan had committed enough sins thus far. Thus, the Terrastellan convert only moved to stand a more companionable distance from the mare, dripping water tracing his path over the sands. Standing at her side, the Crow does not ask her to halt her stargazing, only tilts his head back to stare once more skyward.
“Thank you for joining me, stranger,” His voice was soft, but warm in its welcome, “The desert can be mournful at night, and your company will help keep the past at bay.” A blink and a tiny curve to blackened lips later, Raglan settled in to the moment and thought no more of falling.
Blackened lips parted, a tiny, raw gasp escaping from Raglan’s chest as his resolve nearly broke and the act of resistance shot a finger of pain ricocheting along his spine. So deep, was this fear of feeling, that the stallion considered it akin to falling — primal, all-consuming, inescapable. And while a true fall had never horrified Raglan, for he trusted his great feathered wings, the thought of stepping over an invisible line and into the depthless ravine within himself was a terror that he could not justify.
At the sound of hooves brushing over sad and a shuddering breath that was not his own, Raglan startled. Blinking rapidly, as if to clear his vision of the concept of grief, the Silvertongue lowered his gaze to find he had been joined by a long-eared mare. Dressed was she in shades of cool evening, with gold clinging to her knees and dripping down her face. The stranger was short, though not stocky, with eyes of gold that were not unkind and a tilt to her mouth that implied that while she may not smile often, the smiles she offered would be as pretty as she.
It made him wonder if she was thankful to her deity, for bringing her to earth after being so lovingly wrought.
So easy it would be for the pegasus to slip back into old habits, to don the cloth of jester and take up his role as charming rogue. Yet, the thought of hiding himself beneath the gaze of this unknown woman felt dangerously similar to sacrilege, and Raglan had committed enough sins thus far. Thus, the Terrastellan convert only moved to stand a more companionable distance from the mare, dripping water tracing his path over the sands. Standing at her side, the Crow does not ask her to halt her stargazing, only tilts his head back to stare once more skyward.
“Thank you for joining me, stranger,” His voice was soft, but warm in its welcome, “The desert can be mournful at night, and your company will help keep the past at bay.” A blink and a tiny curve to blackened lips later, Raglan settled in to the moment and thought no more of falling.
"Talk"
@Nefertari hey i love her . Also? *ugly crying sounds*
