If Voltaire could have one wish, it would be to become invisible. He wanted to fade away into quiet obscurity, for no one to notice his passing. It was this obscurity that would allow him to wander like a ghost in the darkness, anonymous and unnoticed. The blue-black stallion never wanted to draw attention to himself, and yet he knew that this place was a herd that would expect his participation and contribution. It was the first step to his penance, to his quest for forgiveness. Though he was new here, the stallion felt an urgency among the others as they gathered to work together and build the garden.
He watched for a while, trying to determine what the end goal was (for Voltaire hadn’t attended the herd meeting, and had only met one other since arriving to the Day Court). It didn’t take long though, for the blue stag to understand. Each creature here had a role to play, like a cog in a greater cycle. Some carried water, some dug neat rows, and still others seemed to carry soil to gather in this place. It seemed that the process worked like a well oiled machine – and for a moment, Voltaire had a thought that he might turn away and return to his hole… but he needed to contribute. He needed to work. Through his work, he could find some peace.
He slips unnoticed into the fray, not speaking and trying not to draw attention to himself. He doesn’t introduce himself as some of the others did, but simply began to drag his scimitar horn through the dirt, feeling the smallest sense of satisfaction at seeing the red clay against his cursed crystal. Sweat gleaned upon his hide as he dug in the fertile loam, unearthing and removing stones that might stand in the way of new growth, and relishing in the toil of physical labor even as his thin denim ears flicked to catch the various strains of conversation.
Some were new and hopeful, others seemed almost jealous by the tones in their voice. It wasn’t hard for him to realize Maxence was their leader, for both the mannerisms and deference shown to him were those of power. Making a mental note to introduce himself at a later date, the stallion simply continued to hoe his lines, hoping that no one would notice his presence.
He watched for a while, trying to determine what the end goal was (for Voltaire hadn’t attended the herd meeting, and had only met one other since arriving to the Day Court). It didn’t take long though, for the blue stag to understand. Each creature here had a role to play, like a cog in a greater cycle. Some carried water, some dug neat rows, and still others seemed to carry soil to gather in this place. It seemed that the process worked like a well oiled machine – and for a moment, Voltaire had a thought that he might turn away and return to his hole… but he needed to contribute. He needed to work. Through his work, he could find some peace.
He slips unnoticed into the fray, not speaking and trying not to draw attention to himself. He doesn’t introduce himself as some of the others did, but simply began to drag his scimitar horn through the dirt, feeling the smallest sense of satisfaction at seeing the red clay against his cursed crystal. Sweat gleaned upon his hide as he dug in the fertile loam, unearthing and removing stones that might stand in the way of new growth, and relishing in the toil of physical labor even as his thin denim ears flicked to catch the various strains of conversation.
Some were new and hopeful, others seemed almost jealous by the tones in their voice. It wasn’t hard for him to realize Maxence was their leader, for both the mannerisms and deference shown to him were those of power. Making a mental note to introduce himself at a later date, the stallion simply continued to hoe his lines, hoping that no one would notice his presence.
@Maxence, @Vadim, @
