Posted on August 1, 2014 at 05:10:56 PM by KASABiAN
 And it's consequences keep you up at night. Kasabian huffs, warm carbon dioxide escapes from his flared nostrils, mixing with the humid musk that hangs over the island of Atlantis. The buckskin stallion is restless, moving aimlessly over the great roots and spongy earth, across the jungle and to the peaks that encompassed his home. Months had passed and for the most part, the steed felt relatively content among the company he'd collected in The Ridge. The instincts that told him to flee -- the itch to just keep going were held at bay, for the most part, by the relationships he'd cultivated here among the islanders. But today, the itch found its way to the forefront of his mind. He hardly recognized this version of himself -- a cool and collected leader, one of whom managed a small herd and stood claim over his own sparce of land. In his younger years, the stallion prided himself on his lackadaisical and care free nature, his nomadic spirit carrying him over hundreds, if not thousands of miles. He made friends and enemies. He fell down, but got back up. He ran with others of his own kind for short bursts. But most of all, the stud learned to love the earth and the spirit of adventure. Herd life, he had decided at an early age, was never for him. He didn't need, nor want, the responsibility. He didn't care for the prestige that came with the title. He was no rule maker, let alone enforcer, nor would he ever inflict his own views and needs on another. So why was he here? What was he doing? The stallion snorted, emerald eyes shut tight for a brief span as he searched, internally, for an answer. But there wasn't one, not now, at least. He had no idea what he was doing. The uncertainty of his motives was perhaps the only lingering part of his former self that still remained unearthed. He found it unnerving that he hung around, staying put and standing guard of this place while the others who joined him here were free to come and go as they pleased. It was his responsibility now to maintain a safe haven for them. And for what? He didn't want them to bear his children. He didn't want his name to be remembered here -- at least not for these mundane, totally expected and traditional reasons. So why -- why does he continue, day in and day out, with the same routine? He didn't want to think about it. The sharp chirps of colorful parrots overhead took hold of his attention, and he welcomed the distraction. The stallion returned the call of the blue and yellow and neighboring red and green macaws with a gruff, bellowing neigh of his own. For a second the winged creatures peered down at him before ruffling their feathers and taking flight. He too, carried on, leaving the canopied forest for the rock-riddled paths of his steep peaks. Kasabian stood among the boulders, the sun still high overhead at midday, casting a blinding reflective mass over the rough seas that battered the rutted rocks below. He reveled in the sea breeze now, as the salty bursts whistled through the strands of his heavy, unkempt mane and forelock. It was in the sea breeze that he first recognized her scent. Golden lobes pricked forward at attention as he took it in, emerald orbs wide as he saw her approach, the thin black mare and young child approaching. At first, he did not recognize her at all. They had met twice in the commons, their last interaction intimate but fleeting. He had never gotten her name. Nor did he ever realize she was pregnant. A low, warm grunt escaped from his whiskered lips as his weight shifted, his weak, burning hip soothing almost immediately as the pressure was released, and he moved to greet her. "I know you." Was all he said, a lopsided grin appearing across his whiskered maw. "But I do not know your little one." KASABiAN 8 | Buckskin | Stallion | Arabian X Thoroughbred X Mustang X Halflinger | 16. 1 | © Vinyl |