Posted on March 22, 2013 at 03:39:55 PM by S O L G A R
 "The man who fears losing has already lost." In truth, Solgar has noticed her: just in an indirect way. While patrolling the territory, he has often wondered where she has gone and whether she had been spirited away by the ghouls in the mountains; while he has slept out the open beside his two mares and two children, he has often sleepily opened his eyes and glanced around to check for danger, and during these occasions he sometimes believes he can see a glint of gold or some distinctly horse-shaped movement on the outskirts of the trees. This has made him wonder if Vanille hadn't wandered off at all: if she just preferred solitude and shyness as Briar did.
Solgar being Solgar, he has never cared enough to double-check. His herd has continued to disintegrate, however. Winter has been quiet as of late, keeping their daughter out of his reach, meaning that Neassa and Yoren are the only true presences left in the inlet. Solgar has made a conscious decision not to bother his lead mare, however, knowing how she likely loathed him even more after injuring herself giving birth to their child. But it still makes him uneasy. As the days grow shorter and the cold winds begin to return in full force with the promise of a sub-arctic autumn, Solgar knows that breeding season will soon be upon them. His own ailment still has not healed, either, and he has a seemingly permanent limp now, which means he will be useless if a rival stallion appears, driven by hormones and the promise of sex. Granted, it has not happened once in the year he's lived here, but there is always the possibility. He hides less now, with his children to look after. Out in the open and with Neassa nearby, he stands with his bad leg cocked and his scarred bottom lip resting lazily, almost protectively, on the rump of his growing son as the sun hangs in the sky behind them. Though his dark eyes are half-closed, Solgar faces the sea. He does not miss, therefore, when the elusive form of the young black-legged Vanille emerges out of seemingly nowhere to loiter on the beach. Immediately he perks up, lifting his head and pricking his ears. He is almost afraid to approach her, as by coming too close he will scare her off as if she were a young deer. But when she calls for him, her high, unfamiliar voice echoing across the landscape, he swallows his reservations and shoulders gently past his son with a quiet murmur of "I'll be back soon". Perhaps finally he will get a chance to have a decent talk with the girl. He moves slowly, hindered by his limp, but somehow still with purpose as he carries his head uncharacteristically high, staring unwaveringly at the form of the mare as he comes ever closer until the sound of the sea crashing behind her is almost deafening. There is a heavy pause when he stops, his hooves sinking into the sand. Eventually he flicks his tail and says in a low, dry voice, "I see you weren't eaten." His black face is guarded and unemotive. S O L G A R 11; mustang; blue roan; 15'3hh; inlet; shiva |
Replies:
- Soft to the touch, bitter to the taste. - By Panthère March 30, 2013 at 09:32:29 PM
- x - By Solgar April 25, 2013 at 06:13:20 PM
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