Falls

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Midas moves easily over the soft ground. His mustang heritage has always made him sure-footed. He knows these islands well though it’s been years since he’s called them home. Above him the pine trees sway gently and the birds call out to one another as they dance among the branches. In the sparse meadows littering the area Midas can see deer grazing peacefully. Many of them have very swollen stomachs - a clear sign of spring.

New life that’s what spring is all about - so why does Midas feel as if he is returning to an old one?

As Midas rounds a final corner and comes into view of the falls, he sees a dark horse near the banks. He watches as she perks up and quickly slouches back in a dejected manner. Still, she ushers forth a very hollow greeting. Good manners Midas thinks as he approaches. “Sorry to disappoint you.” His deep voice chimes across the expanse. He chuckles softly to himself as he swings past her. He wonders how long it’s been since someone has been excited to see him. He hasn’t led or been part of any herd in quite some time and even when he was, he was so distant and emotionally detached that only a few had ever seen the real him, and even fewer had actually liked the stallion they saw inside.

He’s been as a nomad, a drifter, ever since he left the ridge. Midas found himself taking whatever odd jobs he could find, working as a ‘gun for hire’ in many foreign wars and taking young stallions under his wing - teaching them the ways of the world. He did anything to avoid becoming attached or worse - creating a family. Anytime Midas felt he was getting too close to another equine he ran away. It’s a fact he had fervently denied but has finally come to terms with. This tenancy came from deep seeded trust issues, from his father, his mother, his step-father, and other authority figures in his past. But perhaps his reappearance on the islands meant he was ready to stay, ready to create the family he always wanted to have and he wouldn’t betray their trust like he’s done so many times before.

Giving her a quick flash of his signature lopsided grin, Midas turns his attention to the stream. Wading in to the cold water, he dips his chocolate muzzle to the stream. The water is cold but he doesn’t care. He has been traveling for hours and has an insatiable thirst. He drinks greedily and quickly, feeling the mud and sea salt slowly leave his legs, and the undercurrent slowly comb his cream tail. After a bit, his bronze eyes glance back up to her. Curiously he climbs back to land. His scarred pelt gleams in the daytime sun. Cocking his head and letting his untamed forelock rest over his right eye he asks, “Were you waiting for someone?” His mediterranean accent is obvious as he speaks. Midas has gotten better with the common tongue, but his voice still holds the unmistakable accent commonly found where he grew up - the grecian lands he and his mentally disturbed mother had fled to when they left Paradise after Tarrant’s disappearance.

Tarrant x Vintage // Stallion // Palomino [ee aa nCr] // Thoroughbred x Mustang x Mixed // 15.2hh // 12 // No children // a fable character //