The Lost Islands
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we were born to die young


The false twilight of the forest was thick with tension, the breath in Rade’s lungs gelid as his gaze drifted between the two creatures who had pulled him from the oblivion of solitude— and into a new sort of purgatory. Fearghas. When they’d parted on the shores of the Savanna, the scarred roan had tried to pare the festering bitterness from his heart, as a human might slice away the bruised parts of an apple. But some soft brown spots had escaped his efforts, roots of regret buried so deeply that they were tangled irrevocably into the tapestry of who he was. Tangled together with the other ghosts who haunted him, so that he felt like nothing more than a hollow shell held up by the pillars of countless mistakes. Styrke and Debonaire, Cherish and Conquistador. And more, so many more.

Their memories were both the gift that gave him breath… and the curse that made him wish the next would be his last.

It took everything from him to stand tall beneath the weight of the world. To keep from folding beneath the burden of Fearghas’s hate, of the pale woman’s fear. As usual Rade, ye are mistaken. He hadn’t meant to wrong either of them, but the ink of the past was dried and done. All he could do now was face the bitter fruit borne from the seeds he’d planted, slender body tensing and tattered ears edging outward. If the teetering balance of emotions should tip into bloodshed, he would be ready to fight. He had to be.

He will never be my brother. Another shadow twisted free of the darkness beyond their circle, pressing close to the pearlescent mare. At first Rade watched impassively, the mask of his face distant and composed. Once he’d surrendered to the pleasures of flesh as readily as its pains (then, desire and violence had been his only passions), but now— now, he could scarcely even bear to be touched. In fact, he found himself edging away from the woman called Tauri even as she nearly backed into him, the fear and denial of her whispered words drowning out every other sound. And filling his lungs with something like flame, a hot coal of it that threatened to burn through the cage of his ribs and spill onto the damp soil beneath with a soft hiss. A hiss like the one that squeezed between his clenched teeth as the truth reached him.

Fearghas was speaking, his words circling Rade’s thoughts without stopping like the buzzing of flies. ...forced on her… let her go… keep me as a trinket. Meaningless, meaningless. Sucking in a breath, he stared down at the filly, seeing the undeniable truth in the features she shared with the rose-colored stallion.Snapping his head back forcefully, the old bachelor stepped forward. Not toward the intruder and would-be thief, but towards the bachelor. Towards his so-called brother. You’re the one who raped her.” It was not a question but a statement, and the hard edges of his words invited no answer. “Get out of here— you are no brother of mine. I might not have the freedom to banish you from here, but if you—” He was shaking, trembling with hot fury and cold guilt, the image of Cherish filling his thoughts. “If I see you again. If— if you touch her again, then I'll teach you what it is to be another’s plaything.”

The dark shadow at his hip shifted, perhaps intending to take advantage of his distraction— or to move up and stand at his side. Rade would never know. He twisted towards Fearghas with a snap of his teeth, amber eyes wide and wild. “Get out of here, Fearghas. Go.” He could not confront both stallions at once— they stood at opposite ends of the small clearing, with the golden roan, pale mother, and her young between them. Should one or both choose to fall upon him, he was helpless; trapped. Pivoting now to face his brother and again to face the spotted male, Rade kept one ear twisted towards the individual at the edge of his vision, pirouetting in an elegant dance all but ready to erupt into violence.

“Both of you, get the hell out of here.”
2 | stallion | mustang mix | grey (chestnut overo) | 15.0 hh

javardh



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