You can't miss me I'm still alive
Snake skin shoes I'm pleading homicide
It was a long time before the black stallion decided to check upon the arrival of his northern slave. It was a great long time that, in truth, was only mere minutes and yet it felt like arduous unfulfilled hours to Solaris no doubt. Cronus’ pace is steady, his limbs unwavering in their monotonous rhythm as they carry him through the sea of swaying grasses. The summer sun shone upon his ebony black and the deepest mahogany undertones gleaming like blood upon his coat. Do not think, however, that his coat is sleek like polished marble, for it is not. Rather the new Scythian’s coat is dirtied, rough and coarse from exposure to the Hoof Prince weather and landscape and distant lands his child eyes had once seen. Cronus’ mane is matted and entwined like great ropes that sway like pendulums against his muscles neck.
Upon the ground his shadow moves ahead effortlessly and ever changing in shape and ferocity as it glides like a silent serpent over the rough Scythian grassland. Like needles the long stems of various grasses prickle his knees and hocks as they sashay with the jovial breeze. It is the light zephyr that betrays Solaris’ location and Cronus skull swings swiftly, his nostrils flaring as he drinks the stranger’s scent upon the air.
His skull lowers, his poll pressing forward and his obsidian antlers jut out before him. With an arched neck to lead his advancing body, his limbs are a flurry of elastic motion. Knees and hocks snapping up above the grasses before extending and lowering amidst the rustle of flattening grasses and thundering of his hooves. Dark eyes peer from beneath his wild forelock to reveal a gaze as blank as his father’s. Blindness is no relation to his impenetrable stare, but rather a desire to contain his thoughts. It is often however that his mask slips and those eyes glisten like sunlight upon a lethal blade.
He spies his prize standing idly a few meters from his approach and instantly he slows as his gaze crawls over the form of another. He is sorely disappointed not to recognize the patchwork colours of Arianah but instead to survey the gentle curves of a young girl. Evidently Arianah did not value the fallen queen, nor Solaris supposed lover. Maybe his dreams were not a broken as his name would suggest…
His upper lip curls in displeasure and his gut twists like worms. Rapidly his body is in motion, moving swiftly across the now short distance that still lingers between him and his northern slave. “You may not bite, but I cannot make such promises.” Dark eyes glide across the young Tadpole’s skin like a razor blade, desperate to draw blood with the smallest of glances. As if unsatisfied with a gaze alone, his skull tilts, his left pronged antler lowering to press a sharpened point to her throat. ‘Unless you have come to deliver Solaris or speak with the monarchy, then go. I have little desire for your presence when I have a slave awaiting her orders.” From where his skull rests tilted, the one eye within sight of Solaris glimpses at her as a twisted smile plays across his lips. “It will be very entertaining, I promise.”
Come on and feel this I'm still alive
Joker meet you on the other side
