The Lost Islands
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Meadow

Force-claiming is not allowed here. This is a peaceful, neutral area meant for socialising.

when are you coming back where you belong?

L U K A S Z

lukasz feels the tired coils of muscle unfurl and relax as the twilight deepens, regaining some suppleness after the hard swim. his breath is finally even and deep. he could stand like this, quietly resting, for hours but when his black ears twist toward the sound of hoofbeats he opens his dark eyes. the approaching figure is unfamiliar, which is no surprise, but seems to offer no threat either. the smokey grullo cuts through the soft darkness, stopping just far enough away so as not to be intrusive. lukasz lowers his head, which had risen some defensively by instinct, but keeps his warm chocolate eyes steady on the stallion.

there is no tension in the cool evening air, only perhaps a gentle wariness that they both consider in the wake of their curiosity. lukas can’t help but inwardly smile at the slavic accent. it isn’t particularly familiar but at least his own foreign tongue won’t be so out of place in the conversation. there had been days, or the first few months really (after the disaster,) when he couldn’t speak at all… the only sounds he could make then were broken sobs. after months he could utter broken sentences in a language no one seemed to understand. now, after a couple of years, he could speak the strange universal tongue most others seemed to use, albeit with a heavy accent. his mind isn’t on those days however, just on the evening ahead.

good eve, nicholas. i am lukasz. i’ve not been long here.

it is likely the grullo stallion already knows this, but he offers it anyway.. he isn’t the best at small talk but he welcomes a friendly conversation. it used to be, any time he engaged in conversation after arriving somewhere new, that he would ask if the stranger had seen any equines like him… they were of such distinct blood his family was not easily missed… tall and black, every single one, with a proud roman nose. he missed them. he missed all of them so much. but now, after all this time, he does not ask any more. he pushes the question into one of the deep wounds of his heart and buries it there, knowing that like a thorn, it will works its way back to the flesh eventually.



|stallion . black . kladruby . 5 years . 17.1 hh|

|brother to bozena| kafkaesque

html by dante!


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