Mikhail hadn't been expecting company so soon. In fact, if he was honest, he'd been expecting to sit in this meadow for days until finally he was forced to seek out a herd instead of the other way around. So when the ground began to shake beneath him and the distantly familiar sound of approaching hoofbeats caught his attention, he was pleasantly surprised. It seemed lady luck was in his favor today, with minimal effort on his part. Ears rolled forward when the other came to a stop nearby, indicating the painted male's interest in whomever it was that had approached.
'This is not the place to be,' said a masculine voice, 'best come with me, else you may become another Lagoon pawn to play with.'
"My hero," Mikhail drawled, a sarcastic edge to his voice as he turned his head to face what he thought was the stallion's general direction. The wind whispered past them, bringing the stallion's scent to Mikhail's nose - and there was something vaguely familiar about it, something that prickled at the back of his mind like a burr he could not remove. There was a strange familiarity about the male that he couldn't quite place his hoof on; but perhaps it was best not to overthink it, lest he uncover some other unpleasant memory.
"I think I'd off myself before letting one of those thugs take me." He stated plainly and unashamedly. His time in the Lagoon was long over, and he was more than willing to do whatever it took to avoid going back.
Mikhail was just about to open his mouth to say something else when the ground began to vibrate beneath him once again and the distant sound of hoofbeats against packed earth caught his attention. Ears swiveled in the direction from which the sound came, only to be greeted by another masculine voice. It seemed Mikhail was quite the attraction today. Why, he wondered, would a couple of stallions be interested in
him? Had the islands changed so much - had the populace diminished so much - that kings had resorted to bringing other males into the fold? Or was this just a changing of the times, a sign that Mikhail was getting older and outliving the ideologies he had once known?
Either way, it felt strange.
The new stallion addressed him then, offering him the promise of good company in this other stallion - Ruger. Hmm. Good company wasn't exactly what he was after, but he'd take it if it meant getting the safety he desired.
"Good to know," came Mikhail's reply, head tilting in the unknown stallion's direction as he introduced himself.
Roheryn de Mikhail. Wait -- how did he --? Shock and confusion flit briefly across the paint's face, disrupting the signature look of indifference he usually wore. Like a bolt of lightning arcing across the distant horizon it was there and then gone, almost too quick to be seen.
It felt like he stood there for hours, debating on whether or not to open his mouth and say something. But what? 'Hi, I think I might be your father,' seemed a bit too forward - then again, Mikhail had never been one for tact. Should he just introduce himself, let the cards fall where they may? Maybe it was best not to say anything - for all he knew, it could be a title, or some strange second name. Right? Just a coincidence.... right?...
Shit, who was he kidding? He should've expected fate would pull some cruel trick like this - drawing him out in a time of need only to shove his past back into his face. He'd left plenty of kids behind in his younger days, it shouldn't surprise him that he might bump into one now. A part of him had considered the possibility before he'd retreated to the Commons, but brushed it off, thinking any kid of his would've had half a mind to get off these islands.
Apparently he was wrong.
And then another thought occurred to him: Roheryn had called Ruger
uncle. If that was true -- then that meant -- but how? After so long... Mikhail knew he had a brother, but he'd never actually
known him. Now here he was standing right in front of him (or so Mikhail assumed, he couldn't actually be sure). This was weird. Too weird, like the universe had this whole thing planned right from the start. It didn't settle well with the painted stallion.
The snap of twigs and the sounds of the forest behind him suddenly brought Mikhail back to himself, thoughts scattering like flies. Heat rose to his face when he realized he was being spoken to and hadn't answered. Now they'd probably think he was blind
and deaf. Clearing his throat, Mikhail gave a non-committal motion of his shoulder and replied,
"No, I don't really want to. But I'm old and blind, as you can probably tell, and I can't very well keep living all by myself." In the distance, the faint sound of a child laughing rings through the air, and Mikhail wishes so that he could trade places with them; to have no worries for just a little while.
Drawing in a deep breath, the blind stallion anchored himself to the ground and said,
"Seems like your uncle here has a sixth sense for finding lost long relatives." An wry smirk curls at the corners of his lips, the first open expression of emotion he'd showed since the conversation started.
"Do you remember me, brother? How about you, son?"
who knows upon what soil they fed
their hungry thirsty roots?
fifteen. georgian grande mutt. bay tobiano
of nowhere. blind. felony x zhenya. pippa.