Posted on October 30, 2012 at 03:37:16 AM by BADR
 His father had said once, that he would not bear a son that was not made of the sand or slower than the melting glaciers of old. He had said that his sons would be strong and obedient, that they should uphold their traditions with a steely gaze, their golden eyes turned to the horizon and their feet always carrying them onwards. Naturally, such things would have been well and good in the eye of a survivalist like the man that had sired the desert-bred sand king. Being born in the very likeness of his father had come with the sorts of responsibilities that would make any young lad crack like glass under the pressure. By the time he had been weaned and pushed violently out into the wide world beyond the comfort of his herd and home oasis, he could have felt the hairline fractures tracing across his face, shoulders, and down his legs.
A sort of weary defeat had settled into the stallion’s bones when he had found the turning point that threw him in the direction of rebellion. First against the words of his father, and then the laws of his culture and his home. His mother, fair skinned and lovely in the desert sun, would have been disappointed had she been alive long enough to witness the swift and unsightly change in the stallion. Thankfully, his people did not believe in an afterlife, else he would have had his poor mother turning in the grave the moment he turned his back on his mate and his first born. Never completely able to embrace the ide of being a father, Badr’s head hangs low as the boy inches closer, his small nose of black and gold brushing against the much darker chest of the desert lord. The stark contrast not only in colors, but in the sizes between father and son is almost breathtaking, with the stallion carefully curling his neck so as to keep his face close to the boy, remaining still as a statue so as not to crush him underfoot, and quiet as the setting sun. The child is still frail and young, dependent on his mother’s teat for strength and nutrition, and for this the flaxen maned king does not find fault in the small stature of the boy as he utters a barely comprehensible word. Any other man that would have been familiar with children would have cooed over the little sound, registering the word as something discernable from the gurgling of an infant, but Badr flicks back a dark ear as he listens to Chimeras’ soft question, thinking back to Vesti’s young son. “Yes, he has a brother through Vesti.” badr The misguided jailbird. stallion. flaxen liver chestnut. unknown crossbreed. ee aa ff. fifteen & three hands. eight years. russell. |
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Replies:
- What if there was luck in every kiss? - By Chimeras & Brulee November 21, 2012 at 08:44:21 PM
- x. - By badr November 30, 2012 at 07:06:30 PM
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