There was not a thing red-letter when it came to Mellow, nothing spectacular, memorable or in the least bit distinguishable, other than his exterior presentation, perhaps. In truth, he was simply a player in a hard game of life, a faded deck of cards that was upturned at the edges a nearly ruined, the hand in which he had been dealt. It was hardship that had created him, the rough, sooty forge of faith’s gritty blacksmith, that had crafted him, not a proper upbringing toned with morals and values. His twisted thought of honor was never backing down from a fight and always leaving your opponent to live - a vow he had broken, four times to be exact. His idea of respect was being cordial and nothing else, keeping hooves to the ground and incisors behind lips; while his definition of loyalty stood almost as a partnership, a credo of brotherhood not to be broken, perchance the only ode that was correct in notion. He was not alike with the young leader who stood before him, one who had tasted the world differently, viewed it from a darker pair of eyes. When Mellow had been his age, he was fighting, constantly kicking and snapping his jaws upon the very sight of masculine flesh.
He was not controlled, not as cool as he was now, his pupils ablaze with a type of hate that ate and destroyed everything it possibly could. It had served to burn him out, to crumble his pillars from the inside out and force him to the ground. Then there was that struggle, the pursuit of rebuilding, of making himself all over again, a wage that he had completely and utterly forgotten. He blinked and swished his tail, catching the defaced ends on his flank and driving them down his ribs, his focus never serving to shift from the creature before him. His ears caught the tone of his voice and memorized it, placing his figure into file as well, his exterior description and the stifle of his cologne. It was something he had always done, though at that time, it was not for aggressive properties. He had a liking to Encantador, a type of admiration for the maturity he showed in his youth, the security of him, in which Mellow had not known. Once more, he pulled his chin to his broad chest, his forelock shifting slightly to allow the backwards cowlick between his sockets to show, a dot of embarrassing humility.
A chuckle caught in his throat, a dainty laugh of sorts that was light and condoned with innocence. In that moment, his glower finally left the other and spread out to the atmosphere once more, the chapped surface of the flaky earth adorned with curtains of rippling heat. Such temperature did not bother him for the most part, for he had grown accustomed to it, back in a place he could not recall. The barrenness did not either, the tides of dust that rode the sifting wind currents, the standalone boulders that lay bleached under the gape of the solar king. In a manner, he relished in it, enjoyed its lapping embrace, the way it curved about him and diminished the shadow about his heels. “A pleasure, I am Mellow,” he responded foremost, his gaze returned respectfully for Encantador. He breathed in the hefty air, filling his lungs full of it until the seams stretched and he exhaled in a single elongated breath. “At the moment, I only seek heat in this chilly season.”
.stallion. .8 years. .apricot dun. .warmblood mutt. .16.1h. .vagrant. .alexis.
M E L L O W
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