to live and burn is
the most exquisite form of self destruction

The heavy silence that followed Rade’s words was a bed of dry kindling that any word or action threatened to ignite—a pause that was neither peaceful nor pensive. A pause that was filled with nothing but a dry and humorless chuckle from the younger stallion. Their eyes met in the heartbeats that followed—the roan stallion’s gaze wary and guarded, the overo’s filled with malice and something more; something darker and less easily defined. Tension rippled the scarred surface of the old stallion’s skin as he prepared himself for the attack that he was certain would come, but it did not. Instead, Cullen began to speak.

Accusations and questions were hurled like stones, but Rade received them unflinchingly, never letting the false calm of his facade slip. It helped when he saw the paler gold figure of Fiero slide out from the shadows, when he felt his dun son’s silent support in the way that he came to stand beside him. If ever his careful control was doomed to slip, it would have been that moment—because until then, Rade had not been certain. But now he knew—and that knowledge gave him the courage to respond in a voice that was as unwavering and strong as it had ever been. “What does it matter, Cullen?” He voiced, moving for the first time. It was only a slight shift of his body, but enough to signal his readiness should violence erupt. “Without my testimony, you’ve already judged me as guilty. Would it change your sentence to know the true reason that I left? Would it satisfy you to know what it was that ultimately undid me?” He snorted then, shaking a head that had gone heavy with the weight of truth and consequence. “None of this matters to you, and you know it.”

Rade did not truly know Cullen, of course; the workings of fate had seen to that. He knew only what he had learned from the lips of others—and if even half of those whispers were true, then the crimes of the Lagoon’s boss were beyond forgiveness. Cullen began to circle, continuing his tirade until his strides led him to face his father—drawing so close as he spat threats and nonsense that Rade could smell his sour breath. And there, in that moment—there was the chance that any Vulcan would have gladly paid in the coin of her own blood to have. Scant inches seperated father and son, and a thin veil of skin and muscle was all that stood between the roan’s teeth and the delicate web of veins and arteries in his son’s throat. Even if he did not break skin, a crushing hold was all it would take to end the islands’ nightmare. Yet Rade remained motionless, his expression dispassionate as he listened to Cullen’s final words; almost bored. He had heard the sisters’ claims, had seen the struggle of the war-torn islands as they sought to recover from the chaos that Cullen had helped to create—and he had clung to the distant hope that they would prove to be lies.

No longer. Behind his fathomless eyes, the proud old stallion released the last tethers that bound him to this twisted creature willingly.

“Go to hell, Cullen—and take this pawn of yours along for the journey. I will not play your games, even if it costs me my chance at absolution. I have no need of peace—not when it will find me soon enough. And if you are responsible for whatever happened to her, then I can promise you that you will wish you’d never brought me to this place.” Whirling away from the repulsive scents of blood and death, Rade began to limp in the direction from which he’d come. It cost him more than he would ever confess to go, knowing that Cherish might well spend her final moments alone—but what benefit could his presence do her anyway? He’d accepted long ago that his half-sister was better off without him; it was a hard truth that had played a huge part in his decision to leave. And yet…

It was over an hour later that he arrived at the bay mare’s side, having taken a meandering, circuitous route that would make his trail difficult to follow. Without touching her, it was impossible to know whether Cherish was still alive—but Rade could not bring himself to brush his muzzle against her skin. Not again; not ever again. Instead, he stood briefly over the small mound that her body formed, feeling a burning heat that might have been tears behind his molten gold eyes. “Cher, you are free,” he murmured after a long moment of this vigil. “I would join you, if I only could—be the brother that you deserved. But I can’t, Cher. I can’t. I can only hope to live long enough to see those who wronged you suffer—including myself.”

Exhaling his breath in a shuddering sigh that might have disguised a sob, Rade turned—knees buckling under the weight of his grief—and disappeared into the darkness of the Lagoon.

stallion . twenty-three . palomino roan . mustang mix . 15.1hh
debonaire x neassa