A Mystic's Myth or Fable... Posted on December 20, 2015 at 09:20:57 PM by Ailill
Growing hooves stepped through the dirt of the forests he started to dwell in. It had taken time, and he had begun to wonder when the other stallion would answer his call. In truth, the youth had been nervous and concerned. But he could not help himself, the temptation had been too great, the game too grand. It had been less off a demand, he would not have demanded, more of an insistent request. Any who came at his call, were free to leave. He was no slave trader. Respect was given to all on these sands.
The beckoning call sounded through the trees. Ears perked in the direction it came and Ailill raced off to meet his called upon guest. He did not call back as he ran, knowing his voice was give away his age. If Nephilim knew he could beat him there was nothing to stop the stallion from charging in and beating the yearling into a bloody mess. Ailill admitted he probably deserved it. So he kept where he was a secret until he just reached the shadowed tree line.
He slowed to a stop and took a deep, steadying breath. It would possibly have been wiser to stay in the shadows, make a show of lowering his voice, keeping his face and who he was a mystery. It would have been so easy to run the exhausted stallion in circles in the rainforest. But that was a coward’s way out. It was cheating. Instead, the colt held his head high, proud of who he was, and where he stood.
Head held high, he stepped out of the shadows to meet the stallion. Unconsciously, his usual sly expression was painted on his face, even as he lowered his head in respect to Nephilim. “Greetings.” He said in his youthful voice, the smile and laughter present even in those tones. “I wanted to say… sorry… not sorry.” He looked at the stallion for a minute, and for that minute the foal was no longer on his face, but a stallion, thinking hard. “I don’t mean you, or your people harm.” He tried to find the words. “I don’t want to fight you… but a friendly competition, maybe?” The corners of his lips quirked hopefully and the gleam in his eyes shined excitedly, in the most playfully friendly of manners. “No blood, just games. One day, if you call on me I can fight by your side.” Ailill held his head even a little higher, posing himself in a stance that would one day stand strong. Currently being long and lanky, it was not even remotely intimidating.