to live and burn is
the most exquisite form of self destruction

Time seemed to pass differently here on the edge of the world. It crept, rather than trickled - an advancing glacier instead of a steadily-flowing stream. For this, perhaps the palomino roan should have been grateful, given that he had so little of it left. But instead, Rade was agitated by the constant sameness of his surroundings. A year after his arrival, the Peak was exactly as it had been upon his arrival. Prisoners still wore their shackles, peace was as fragile as a thin crust of ice at the edge of a pool. The same scowls greeted him where he wandered - or, in the case of the Codebreaker, did not. For as much as they had not embraced friendship, Rade and Adelheid had accomplished something far more important: trust.

And in Rade’s case, at least, a secret he guarded closely: devotion.

Each day from afar he had watched his son grow, and each one of those had been a precious gift. A gift given to him by the large black mare, who might have easily let Sciannath perish. Despite their agreement, after all, she had not been obligated to accept the favor that the Lagoon’s once-Boss had asked of her. Nor could she have been coerced to undertake the task of raising the blue roan boy with such affection. And so Rade had come to understand that this arrangement had grown to be far more than the debt the Vulcan could now claim over him. Regardless of the outcome of the coming conflict, Rade knew that he would stand firmly at Adelheid’s side should the bloody tide of war come grasping for the Peak sisterhood again. Against his own son - against his own principles - he would stand, and fight, and die.

Regardless of its slow motion, time did pass. Winter yielded reluctantly to the warmth of Sciannath’s second spring. Snow retreated to only the highest and most inaccessible crags of the Peak, and new life flourished in its absence. As always, Rade felt younger with the return of sun and green; the persistent nagging aches in his joints lessened, if not abated. He ventured further from his self-appointed home, sometimes trailing along the borders of the Lagoon. And what he learned from the scents that criss-crossed the invisible line was not reassuring. When he’d first returned, the scents of others had been all but absent. Now, a handful of new, unfamiliar colognes cut into the heart of the southernmost tip of the Common.

In the absence of the army he had lost to the Peak, it seemed that Cullen was beginning anew.

Rade retreated back to the mountains, desperation lending more urgency to his plans. He had met with Sciannath later that day, playing with the boy until the sun set behind the jagged stone teeth of the Peak, but the light-hearted laughter they shared had done little to reassure him. If anything, the golden stallion became even more convinced of the necessity to take action, and soon. Cullen’s world was one in which a boy like the curious blue roan could never have enjoyed such carefree joy and easy confience. Sciannath would have been taken forcefully from his home, shaped with cruelty, and spit back out into the world as a shadow of the bright boy he was.

This nightmare plagued Rade often over the course of the next few days… until the opportunity he’d been seeking finally came to him.

Though his presence had never been welcomed by the majority of the women who lived in the Peak, neither was it condemned. So long as he tread lightly and respected the sanctity of their home, it seemed, he would not be driven out. But the amber stallion was neither subject or prisoner, lending him more freedom than the males who tended to congregate at the lower altitudes. In other words, Rade went where he pleased, be that the worn trails that led ever upward, or the alpine meadows that dotted the mountainside. And so - when he heard the unfamiliar masculine voice call out a summons - he’d descended the rocky slopes at a pace more rapid than he’d asked of his body for many seasons.

Of course, the palomino was wise enough not to presume that his liberty extended into being permitted amidst a gathering that included the Vulcan leaders. Instead, he lingered at some distance as the spotted stallion, a pale stallion whom he knew to be Cullen’s son, and the Prime Minister and General conversed. Rade was not close enough to hear what was said, but this truth mattered little to him. His sincere belief was that the Vulcans would not be moved into action without provocation - and that Cullen was clever enough not to provoke them until he could match their strength.

By that time, it would be too late.

The gathering broke up after some time, and with a soft groan of pain Rade lurched forward, forcing his stiff limbs into motion. For a while, he just trailed after the white-blanketed male, confirming by scent and sight what his thoughts had already concluded. Only then - when he was certain, and when the Vulcan leaders were beyond hearing - did he call out to the unfamiliar male, quickening hispace to a steady lope before the bachelor could slip away.

Perhaps here was where the first blows of the war would come to pass - but Rade had cause to doubt the possibility. There weren’t many reasons for one of Cullen’s own to approach the Peak so peacefully, and he was betting heavily on the possibility that this one’s loyalty was tenuous at best.

stallion . twenty-one . palomino roan . mustang mix . 15.1hh
debonaire x neassa