The path wound through the cold mountains, reminding him of the peak that neighbored his childhood home. It had been one of the few constants in his life - his mother had been far more interested in chasing after his father's affection than nurturing the growth of her sons. Their father, well, he had wanted them to be soldiers, and Mikhael was not that. It had been established early on that the peak was forbidden territory. He had once asked why, and received nothing but a new scar for it. 'You are to never go to the peak. You wouldn't betray your brothers, would you?' His sire's harsh words were a cold echo through his mind as he wound his way up the path, the cool mountain air nipping gently at his skin.
It wasn't until moments later that movement on the path ahead caught his attention. It was blurry at first, startling him into stillness. Then he was suddenly hyper-aware of the fact that he was not alone, the sound of hooves against rock filling his ears. Slowly, he continued forward, until he could see their figure, their body dancing in his vision. What he saw was nothing unusual in these parts, he was sure, but he had never before seen someone like this. Their jet-black coat reminded him of Rowena, but that was not what was unusual about them; no, it was the brilliant stripe of green that seemed to extend across their topline, down the crest and across the back. It was the color of fresh spring growth, and he was - shocked? confused? - to see it splashed across another horse. Was it paint? he wondered, creeping a little closer. He didn't want to be rude, his
He watched them dance, their hooves beating out a rhythm against the cold unyielding stone. Part of him felt uncomfortable to witness this stranger's routine, the gyration of their body as they danced with abandon across the rocks. Yet he felt oddly at peace, his mind going quiet as the clicking of hooves continued on. It didn't take him long to realize why; an image of Katla's body flashed in his mind, her delicate movement as she danced to her own drumbeat, the rising sun illuminating behind her. They had traveled all night, and she had been his eyes, guiding him faithfully through the forest.
He had learned to be independent since then, or at least he liked to think so. He had come this far - if that was not proof of his independence, he wasn't sure what was. Turning his gaze away from the stranger in front of him - perhaps if it seemed he wasn't looking - he craned his neck and grasped at the edge of his cape, pulling it further around his shoulders. He did not have the advantage of muscle on his side, and often found himself lacking in warmth. The stranger kind enough to give it off their back forever had his gratitude.
Turning back, he finally finds the voice to speak. "Pardon me," he projects the words from mouth, hoping they will be heard over the hollow beat. It slices through their gentle ballad, jagged as the cliffs that surrounded them. It had been a long while since he had spoken to anyone - to be in the presence of another, however accidental or short-lived, was a relief. "Is this the way to the Night Court?" He inquired, his gaze shifting to the path beyond them.
It wasn't until moments later that movement on the path ahead caught his attention. It was blurry at first, startling him into stillness. Then he was suddenly hyper-aware of the fact that he was not alone, the sound of hooves against rock filling his ears. Slowly, he continued forward, until he could see their figure, their body dancing in his vision. What he saw was nothing unusual in these parts, he was sure, but he had never before seen someone like this. Their jet-black coat reminded him of Rowena, but that was not what was unusual about them; no, it was the brilliant stripe of green that seemed to extend across their topline, down the crest and across the back. It was the color of fresh spring growth, and he was - shocked? confused? - to see it splashed across another horse. Was it paint? he wondered, creeping a little closer. He didn't want to be rude, his
He watched them dance, their hooves beating out a rhythm against the cold unyielding stone. Part of him felt uncomfortable to witness this stranger's routine, the gyration of their body as they danced with abandon across the rocks. Yet he felt oddly at peace, his mind going quiet as the clicking of hooves continued on. It didn't take him long to realize why; an image of Katla's body flashed in his mind, her delicate movement as she danced to her own drumbeat, the rising sun illuminating behind her. They had traveled all night, and she had been his eyes, guiding him faithfully through the forest.
He had learned to be independent since then, or at least he liked to think so. He had come this far - if that was not proof of his independence, he wasn't sure what was. Turning his gaze away from the stranger in front of him - perhaps if it seemed he wasn't looking - he craned his neck and grasped at the edge of his cape, pulling it further around his shoulders. He did not have the advantage of muscle on his side, and often found himself lacking in warmth. The stranger kind enough to give it off their back forever had his gratitude.
Turning back, he finally finds the voice to speak. "Pardon me," he projects the words from mouth, hoping they will be heard over the hollow beat. It slices through their gentle ballad, jagged as the cliffs that surrounded them. It had been a long while since he had spoken to anyone - to be in the presence of another, however accidental or short-lived, was a relief. "Is this the way to the Night Court?" He inquired, his gaze shifting to the path beyond them.
