Accept the fires from which I came ;;

Oh, only the misery of winter dared bring forth the incredible fluffiness of his winter coat; the blue brindle pattern that usually lent him an air of eccentricity instead created the illusion of a brightly colored plushy. Cavalli long since learned to deal with this seasonal handicap but, much like his mother, it tended to give him a rather sour attitude. Actually, many things sent his attitude tumbling downhill. Surely, it was more common to catch the brindle stallion in a grumpy mood than in any semblance of contentment! Then again, could anyone blame him? He had been hardly weaned when his mother kicked him from the metaphorical nest; a trade, he later understood, for some other Valkyrie wretch. Of course, the good of the so-called “Sisterhood” exceeded the responsibilities of blood, especial when that blood belonged to a male. He did not grudge her for it though, definitely not. After all, how else would he learn to be a “manly man” and all that?

Contempt hugged to him like a robe as he traipsed casually into the dying kingdom of Scythia—an empire built on a foundation that mixed as easily as oil and water. Honestly, how did the gods ever expect to create a flourishing country when its inhabitants consisted of thick-headed, independence driven mares and bachelor’s whom paraded their masculinity around like a detestable musk that practically shouted “commitment issues”? Little occurrences like this often made Cavalli wonder if the non-believers really had the right idea after all.

The topic of heresy aside, Cavalli set himself on a mission to scout out the barren land—see if he could rustle up some life in a land so quiet it’d put a graveyard to shame. Even now, the man himself couldn’t decide what brought him back to the lands that he forsaken years ago, and why he returned now of all times. Perhaps, it was the fact that despite the limited time he spent with the Rajput, he never truly met his father. Sure, maybe he might have caught a glimpse of his sire while he huddled like a coward behind rocks or any place with enough shadow to conceal him, but due to the fact that his coat had to come from somewhere, he highly doubted that. At any rate, even if he found his father, what exactly did he expect? It was not as if the reunion would be any sort of grand event; Cavalli truthfully did not even expect a pleasant experience. It was not as if the man snuck into the Jungle while he was still a child, too young to leave his mother’s side, in order to have that cherished “father-son time.” He was setting himself up for disappointment, and he knew it. However, he could not just let it go; a strange thought nagged at the back of his mind that it was time, and as there was little else that he had to do, he decided to humor it, for now.