lukasz is the youngest of four. or was, at least. he is the only now. that is what he believes wholeheartedly. his parents had produced three colts and one filly. being of the krev, and with nobility at that, he and his siblings had carried the weight of responsibility and expectation their entire juvenile lives. before at least. now he only carries loss. there is no world in which he could imagine any of them lived, mainly because he had spent three years searching. wandering. asking. not a sight, not a word, nothing of the vlast or his people was ever spoken. the disaster had been so great. it seemed that the earth itself had opened and collapsed inwardly, sending the mountains tumbling as if they were anthills. there was rain, driving cold rain that danced between angry flashes of lightning and booming thunder… there was tadeas’s head disappearing beneath the dark angry waves. he remembers the day he had stepped foot on this isle, the day he vowed to put them out of his mind forever. he feels his failure anew. how could he forget? the kladruby has spent some of his short years learning the art of blending in, or trying at least. when he moves, it is always with a controlled steadiness, head low and inconspicuous. it diminishes both his impressive height as well as the distinctive curve of his face. still though, he always seems to draw some sort of attention. through the tangled cascade of his black forelock, lukasz notices the spotted figure careen past. despite himself he jerks his head up when the stranger comes to a violent halt, sending the his black forelock aside. the sprinkling of a few white hairs on his forehead contrasting to the velvet black. his soft brown eyes widen anxiously, nerves already getting the better of him, as the stranger turns to face him full on. he wasn’t sure what he had expected, but to be inspected so closely and then offered an apology certainly wasn’t it… it doesn’t occur to him that he could be mistaken for someone else, at least not from this close. sure, from a distance he could be any tall black horse… but up close, with the strong convex profile and powerful build, he was unmistakable…. he is quick to snort softly, accepting the apology with no hesitation but a measure of incredulity. the mouthful of grass he had been halfway through is remembered then, chrewed and swallowed before he can respond with a quiet politeness. ”no apology needed… i’m not very good company, but you’re welcome here.” the accent of the old world is nearly gone, though the hint of it still lingers in some words. he had assimilated quickly by necessity. his soft brown eyes brush over the spotted stranger more closely, wondering what had set him at such a pace…
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