Well. Talk about an interesting turn of events as the fates would have it. If there was someone out there in the world that dared to try and claim that they knew Mist Meadows was going to be swallowed by a mysterious and eerie fog so suffocating that no one could survive within it for long, following an out-of-the-blue storm by the likes of which the beast of bronze and bistro had never before witnessed in all his nine years kf life.... he'd saunter right up to that equine and kick them square in the jaw. He didn't care who you were, whether you were immortal or a mystic or some other being within supernatural and unexplainable gifts invisible to the eyes of any, not one single inicidual could say that they'd seen it coming. It had been a late summer day like the rest of them, the air growing steadily cooler as mother nature prepared to throw the world into autumn with its various shades of citrine, bronze, ruby, and amber. Some might wonder where it was that the handsome Spanish stallion had hidden himself away, and his answer were be fairly predictable; the dale. Once he'd managed to secure a place for himself and his pretty little dove, he'd taken quite well to the life of a beta stallion. And by that, of course he meant just grazing and napping and sunbathing when he wasn't doing everything in his ability to make himself scarce from the bounty of offspring he somehow acquired. Father of the year? Probably not, but he was certainly alright with that. Well, he'd been dozing contentedly beneath the shelter of an evergreen with the afternoon's events took a strange turn. Though the heavens above had already been overcast, the cloud cover grew darker and angrier before the sky suddenly began to rumble beneath the roar of thunder and flash with lighting. Then, the earth beneath him began to quake. Now, most equines were beginning to panic and run every which way without fully thinking of where it was they should go, until the fog came. He had been able to picture it quite well, mares and foals and stallions alike all now having one goal in mind as the fog began to devour anything and everything in its path; stay alive.

It was over as quickly as it had started, all the while the lazy beast hadn't moved from beneath his tree. What would be, would be and there was little sense in trying to do anything about it. At least, that was his perspective. Once it seemed that everything had passed, that was when he'd taken to an ambling walk to check out the chaos that has surely taken over the realms. Needles to say, when he reached the highest hills that marked the borders of the dale, he hadn't been mistaken. Everything that was Mist Meadows was done, save for the mountains in the far southwest that stood stood silently and powerfully over the world below. He could not even be in to guess what had truly happened that day, why it was that the gods had seemingly decided to wipe away the very existence of Mist Meadows with no more than a small flick of their godly wrists and not the slightest concern for the living things that likely perished beneath the wrath of the sudden and mysterious storm. There was little feeling that had stirred with the handsome devil in that moment when he realized that everything he'd known was gone just like that, although he would admit that he was intrigued. It was something to marvel at, just how delicate this world was, and he easily it could all be taken away. Families were torn apart, lives were lost, kingdoms where toppled over and reduced to nothingness... All in a matter of mere moments that undoubtedly seemed like an eternity for some. But none of this really even affected Bastille. He had no family - save for the brats he'd crested and even then he avoided them so it wasn't like he'd lost a piece of himself in the storm and in the aftermath when suddenly they had all vanished with their mothers. If Rhaego felt like rounding them up, then he was more than welcome to. The only one he considered searching for was Larka, ha prized silver doveling that he had secretly come to be rather possessive over. Even she had gone, but it was likely due to the opportunity that she'd seen to escape him. She'd come back to him though, he had a feeling that she would. And if not, he would track her down as he did back when she'd been part of the desert harem, back when he'd been King of Verona. As soon as he felt like pursuing her, if she did not turn up on her own, he would hunt her down. Now, we come to the present day...

Turning his back to the snow covered scenery stretched out before him, he sauntered down towards the lake hidden away in the heart of the dale. He had a favorite grazing place there, where he knew of a patch of wild strawberries to grow and he wondered if any of them might still be around. It was likely too late in the year for the delicious red fruit, but he was also growing a tad parched so really the truck through the rolling hills of the dale was a win/win for the Spanish beast of bronze and bistre as he made his way at a content walk, chiseled muscle rippling beneath his scarred dappled hide. Sabled whipcords lash out against his flank as he followed an already made trail in the glittering blanket of white winter snow likely created by the big boss himself although it was rather hard to tell as the frozen skywater didn't hold the scent any longer and there was a possibility it was one of the mares that he'd probably already recovered after the incident. It was a question that he mused over as the time went on before he finally reached the lake now only a short distance away, and thankfully it had yet to completely freeze over. Forgetting entirely about trying to decide what had made the trail on the snow, he branches off and trekked through the freshly fallen powder himself and towards a familiar evergreen not far from the lake's shore. He was a creature of habit when left to his own devices after all and after reaching the water's edge and lowering his sabled lips to drink his fill, he lifts his handsome Spanish head once more and moved to stand beneath the shelter of the tree. He paws at the snow here, soon having created a little hollow from himself where now he lowers himself to the ground with a grunt and a huff, and once situated begins his scheduled afternoon nap. The life of a beta stallion was quite strenuous, after all.


__________________________________________

I'LL GIVE YOU FEELINGS
THAT YOU WON'T WANNA FIGHT
__________________________________________

Bastille

Stallion

9 years

Lusitano

Seal Brown Cream (Brown Buckskin) [image!]

Two hind socks, thin blaze in the shape of a jagged lightning bolt, starting in a pointed star in the center of his forehead and ending in a thick snip between his nostrils.

Ee/A^ta/nCr/nSpl