The Lost Islands
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Common

Force-claiming is allowed here once a week per character, as is blocking force-claims by the Peak/Lagoon (as a whole) once a week. Rollover is on Sundays.

We found each other in the dark
Posted on November 2, 2017 at 03:16:05 PM by RUXIN






Through the black starless water,
And the cold lonely air.
On the rock restless seas.

The smell. It made him cringe.

For a year and a half, the colt avoided the ocean. He knew she was there, somewhere on the other side. But the more he grew, taller and stronger and wiser, the more curious and angry he became. Ruxin was the name he decided on upon himself, because as far as he knew, she never gave him one. It's what he told the band of misfit stallions who found him, stinking strongly of her and the sea, skinny and shaking like a leaf, when they took him in. They taught him what his mother did not -- how to eat, when to eat, when to fight, when to flee. But the golden mare was never far from the forefront of the young stallion's mind. He had memories of the sand and of the heat. Of a tall, thin and cold black mare. Of Talya, his good-natured sister whom had been the only bright spot in his early days. And Evaline, the despondent, tortured-looking, sick and frail mare he nursed from, but received little else from in terms of nurturing and care.

The stallions had a way of making him feel better about himself, if only in short bursts. Most of 'em had terrible mothers or none they knew at all. Some complained about their fathers. For a while, the colt wondered about his own. Evaline never mentioned one. The not knowing made it all worse. Ruxin wasn't the type to fantasize about the unknowns. Instead he internalized the torment and the unrest that came from having blank slate and let it fester.

He wasn't sure if he needed answers. The brothers from his band warned that sometimes, answers just made it worse. But the unrest grew. It made him anxious and paranoid and sometimes angry for no reason at all. He didn't want to live this way. Thus as he bordered on the age of two, he bid his saviors good bye. He stood along the edge of the surf and stared out at a chain of hazy land masses in the distance, at the opposite end of the black, churning sea. He swallowed his fear as best he could, and he kicked out against the waves until his two-toned legs were chopping through the liquid, carrying only his head above the surface and barely that, as he maneuvered his way back to where he came from.

He washed up along the shoreline of the crossing gates exhausted but grateful. He rose from the surf on shaking white legs and slept with his back against the warm, howling wind. There the sand stabbed at his frame like knives through the night. But he awoke the next day all the same, his dark eyes blinking through the hollowed nothingness behind them. He stood and walked because instinct told him to. His stomach growled so he grazed obediently. But that smell. He'd never been to the Crossing, as far as he knew. But the smell of familiarity...

It made him sick to his stomach.

R U X I N
Chestnut Overo | Stallion | Evaline X Psychedelic | 14.3 | Photo © Carina Mailwald |© Vinyl






ooc: most def claimable! He needs plots, friends, scuffles, whatever!

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