“For all evils there are two remedies - time and silence.”
― Alexandre Dumas, The Count of Monte Cristo
Do you remember peaceroses? There is a legend of a bloom that was brought forth from the abyss of war, turmoil, chaos and darkness. And its frail but fearless, hopeful, simple beauty it birthed hope in a heart that had long forgotten the meaning. They are rare and blessed, but should you cross one, do be sure to pluck a bloom for me one day. Promise me you will.
He had decided to stay a while near the falls observing the ways of the land, attempting to change the wonder of this unknown place into familiarity. He discovered a growth of mint herbs hidden among the other brushes of the forest that scattered about the moving waters. This was a place of souls coming and departing, a place for coexistence and hardly a scuffle to deal with. There were all sorts of characters too (dark, dangerous, mysterious, lonely, naïve, adventurous, etc.), and apparently from all corners of the vast world where equines roamed. He blended in nicely here despite his large brutish size. The sooty bay thought on other things his mother had told him, stories really. Rodrigo was once a soldier, a leader in a land his kin were foreign to and he had his mother and cousin for company. And from his mother there were always stories of these isles, some fantastical and some perhaps more akin to skewed truths of his dam's own past. So far he deemed these parts of the isle pleasant enough. He was not so pleasant a companion as these last few years had been trying ones, but slowly he was trying to reinsert himself into civilian life. But with his kin now gone from him, he found trust lacking which further made it difficult to mingle among the inhabitants here.
The hellion appeared quiet and content with his grazing until a soft voice interrupted. A filly appeared, its pelt dark and sun laced, eyes like amber. Auds pricked curiously and instantly his memory brought him back to the abandoned filly he had crossed before coming to the islands: Lana. The virile scanned the lithe but saw no sign of a mare. He could not find it in him to ignore the child who was growing more distressed. He approached cautiously, thorns twitched. Rodrigo always bore kind eyes, even when his anger was stirred there was a calm reserve about him (though anger was not in his features now). He called out to the youth, hoping his size would not frighten her off. "Can I help you little one?" He studied her as he neared and halted a safe distance to show he meant no threat. "My name is Rodrigo."
RODRIGO
the spaniard |