boys, boys don’t cry
boys keep it all inside
It happens unceremoniously—his initial venture outside the borders of Denocte.
There is no great build-up, no intensity of anticipation. He simply…leaves. Grazing somewhere along the grassy fields near Vitreus Lake, an idea sits itching at the back of his mind, and without giving himself time to overthink it, the boy suddenly launches himself to the skies. Ignoring a twinge of pain that shoots through his right shoulder, he surges on leathery wings higher, higher, until the warm summer air is cooled by the expanse of the ocean.
He carries with him five supplies: scraps of charred bronze metal, a bundle of silk, a large black opal stone, a collection of dyes, and a crude drawing. It all began when he had been wandering through the Night Markets, guided by memories, when reminiscing suddenly led to an idea, a promise, of gaining something he had lost. Everything has been stolen from him (even the breath from his lungs, at one point) and there is very little control he has to take any of it back—but this, his armor, a piece of his former life, he can breathe existence into again.
With few blacksmiths living within Denocte, he had been told to travel elsewhere: abroad to the Dusk Court, to find an artisan living within the Citadel there. There are nerves that flicker at the ends of his already-frayed emotions, apprehension that ripens as the foreign empire comes into view, but the red stallion pushes onward. While recreating something of his former self may aggravate wounds that have only partially healed, this is something he believes he must do.
Circling overhead once, Fang lands heavily within the Court’s walls, the impact of his hooves striking the stones reverberating deep through his bones. Standing for a moment, his nostrils curl as he inhales the scents of this strange place. Fearing his anxiety will get the better of him, he grits his teeth and forces himself to move, ember eyes searching for the forge.
tag; @Uzuri
“…”
There is no great build-up, no intensity of anticipation. He simply…leaves. Grazing somewhere along the grassy fields near Vitreus Lake, an idea sits itching at the back of his mind, and without giving himself time to overthink it, the boy suddenly launches himself to the skies. Ignoring a twinge of pain that shoots through his right shoulder, he surges on leathery wings higher, higher, until the warm summer air is cooled by the expanse of the ocean.
He carries with him five supplies: scraps of charred bronze metal, a bundle of silk, a large black opal stone, a collection of dyes, and a crude drawing. It all began when he had been wandering through the Night Markets, guided by memories, when reminiscing suddenly led to an idea, a promise, of gaining something he had lost. Everything has been stolen from him (even the breath from his lungs, at one point) and there is very little control he has to take any of it back—but this, his armor, a piece of his former life, he can breathe existence into again.
With few blacksmiths living within Denocte, he had been told to travel elsewhere: abroad to the Dusk Court, to find an artisan living within the Citadel there. There are nerves that flicker at the ends of his already-frayed emotions, apprehension that ripens as the foreign empire comes into view, but the red stallion pushes onward. While recreating something of his former self may aggravate wounds that have only partially healed, this is something he believes he must do.
Circling overhead once, Fang lands heavily within the Court’s walls, the impact of his hooves striking the stones reverberating deep through his bones. Standing for a moment, his nostrils curl as he inhales the scents of this strange place. Fearing his anxiety will get the better of him, he grits his teeth and forces himself to move, ember eyes searching for the forge.
tag; @Uzuri
“…”
Lost boys like me
are free.
are free.
please tag Fang in all replies; magic and force are permitted
