~ each day death crawls into my body
The elegant, lithely built stallion stands silent and stoic within the foamy surf, his tail flicks across his speckled sides and his dark gaze wanders to the edge of the horizon. In the distance, there is a smear of green - Atlantis - and just beyond, faintly - Luthien. He had spent a few days there, speaking and curating a home for Costello, Innayat and himself. But as their deal was about to close, an unfamiliar silver haired woman had come in and defeated Callahan. Immediately he had took to the surf and made his way back to Costello, and then the Hills.
He had expected to be met with hostility but to his surprise, there was no one there to meet him at the border. The scent was old, but familiar... Cullen.
His ears momentarily lay against the curve of his neck as he remembers the Lagoon boss. His dark eyes glint with a smoldering anger as he recalls all that Cullen had done, and the chaos he had sewn.
For a moment, his dark gaze sweeps back over his shoulder and searches for Costello. He had informed her of his decision to return to the Crossing. She would hide away within the Hills until his return, then together they would make their way to the Badlands. Satisfied that he could not see his beloved, he pushes himself into the surf and toward the Crossing.
☪ ☪ ☪
He steps through the surf and onto the harden sand beyond. His thin Salem coat offers no protection against the blustery winter winds. His ears grumpily lay against his neck and his dark gaze sweeps across the frozen land that sprawls out before him. Brittle yellow grasses bend beneath the weight of the frost and snow. With each wintery breath, the shivers spread across his russet body until he has to clinch his teeth together to keep them from chattering.
A cough draws his attention, an unfamiliar delicately built desert mare pushes herself through the snow. His ears rotate together and his delicately chiseled head lifts higher on his curved neck. He steps through the frozen grass with his tail neatly flagged over his back and his steps light beneath his lithe body.
His breath is held on his lips as he admires the delicate curve of her nose and the dish of her forehead. "Salam, desert one," he welcomes her with a dip of his crown and a soft smile on his whiskered lips "winter's grip holds tightly to the Isles, but not in Salem, so I have come unprepared to the crossing." Another shiver racks his body and once again he clinches his jaw tightly together.
His russet coat is sleek and glistens beneath the winter sun, a stark contrast compared to those who dwell in the most northern parts of the Isles.
B a h a d ı r
protector of the hills
Egyptian Arabian mutt // 9 years old // Bay Rabicano // Stallion
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