The Lost Islands
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Falls

Force-claiming is not allowed here. This is a peaceful, neutral area meant for socialising.

to love is to destroy; gabbar


Spring was so filled with noise, he thought. Winter seemed hushed and dreary, covered in frost and snow. Yet spring was bursting with color, the chorus of birds singing sweet songs to one another filling the air with the laughter of foals born early as they began to play. Nephilim, a young colt just over a year old, was but a stranger and therefore not allowed near the foals as they played. Mothers were too nervous when they saw him staring for a prolonged amount of time, unsure of his intentions.

He supposed it looked suspicious, but truthfully he was just watching with an ache in his heart and confusion seeped into his mind. Had there been a time he was so carefree? He vaguely remembered the forest of his early days, but even then his mother had driven him away from the herd and the other foals there, keeping him isolated, on the fringes where the herd grazed. She was ashamed of him. His golden eyes brushed over the mothers, a word and thought he loathed, and without knowing them he judged each one as imperfect. He didn’t understand what it meant to have a good mother, to have a mother who was proud to have him. Nor did he understand the concept of a protective or caring father.

Turning his ears back, Nephilim started walking forward, leaving the clearing where he’d lingered too long near two mares and their foals bucking and kicking about in the spring grass. His tail cracked at his speckled haunches and the more he walked the more he spiraled deeper into the irritation itching beneath his skin. Each step drew him deeper into the cloud of rage which welcomed him with unfortunately familiar arms. The buzzing in his ears was so great it was as if he couldn’t hear the tumble of the falls as he stepped into the familiar territory.

Like a ticking time bomb, one wrong move and Nephilim would go off.




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