Posted on August 19, 2016 at 02:55:19 PM by KASABiAN
 And its consequences keep you up at night. He returns. The former king of the Ridge stands along the shoreline, his hip cocked to the right, allowing a sore hind leg and ailing joint to rest against the cool, though rough-edged surface of one of the many boulders that littered the landscape of his former home. He breathes easy, cool and hazy plumes rise and evaporate in the humid, though slightly chilled air with every even exhale. Golden lobes are flicked back against the tawny stallion's thick cranium as the sounds of the crashing waves directly to his east deafen the chirps and buzzing of the Ridge's forest inhabitants to the north. This place no longer feels like home. He can smell some new stallion spewed all over this place. But Kasabian isn't mad. He gave up his hold over the Ridge a long time ago. This is just the way the world worked. When one man fails, another steps up to give it a go. Perhaps if Kasabian had known his father, he could have come to understand the fog that clouded his mind. The sickness that coursed through his veins and poisoned whatever good was still left in his life. But the buckskin stallion never knew his father. His mother, Evaline, filled his head with fantastic lies about this phantom character all his life, and it wasn't until recently that Kasabian began to question what he had been told. Kasabian didn't realize that he was the product of rape. His mother, manhandled by some stranger more than a decade ago, and his father, some beast who had spread his sickness through his genes. The madness had taken root and grown slowly but feverishly as Kasabian aged. It blossomed now at the ripe year of 13 within his brain. Kasabian stopped fighting it. Instead he had channeled the rage, the raw heat that radiated internally, into an aggression he had never felt before. At the time, relief passed through him, as if his body was rewarding him for finally giving into it. He was losing himself. And in order to regain his sanity, to find just a glimmer of the man he once was and longed to be again, he had to get out of here. The pressures of being a band stallion had drove him mad. And his results were dismal. He had a renewed calling anyway. This place was just a blip on his timeline, easily a forgettable mention in the grand history of the Lost Islands. Especially now, as he stood at the border of his former homeland. Of his former life. KASABiAN 13 | Buckskin | Stallion | Arabian X Thoroughbred X Mustang X Halflinger | 16. 1 | © Vinyl |