rade

The bay stallion stepped away from his outstretched muzzle, tearing a corner of the stallion’s heart in that gesture. Brother. The word Rade had spoken continued to echo through the cavernous hollow of his chest, aching dully each time it was repeated. Throughout his life he’d had many brothers, and not all of them tied to him by blood. Styrke. Conquistador. Felony. Fearghas. And more, more whose names were buried and forgotten in the dark soil of his past. More who had pulled away from him as Felony did now, leaving him the hollow husk that stood here now, thin and mud-caked and trembling. A scarecrow of the man he’d once been.

You are mistaken. For a moment, the breath was punched from Rade’s body as he considered the meaning behind those words. He was mistaken… in what? In trusting that the Vulcans would hold to their vows? In the claim that he’d tried, as if there’d been nothing more he might have done differently? Or was Felony rejecting the brotherhood he’d claimed, and throwing it back in his face? A small broken sound escaped the Boss, but even then his mind was still working, still processing not only the contents of the dark male’s speech but also the way they’d been spoken. That voice. He remembered the rough growl that Styrke’s son had spoken with, and the soft music of this male’s voice didn’t match. Which meant that it wasn’t— that he wasn’t—

Who is it that you think I am? "Felony," the old stallion breathed, the fog beginning to lift from his mind. His amber eyes flickering, clearing. "You’re— you’re not him." It wasn’t a question, but a statement; a truth finally coming to light. No, this creature wasn’t Felony. He was too young, and the placement of his white markings was too different. But there were similarities that couldn’t be chalked down to simple coincidence, and that sent the gears of his mind turning more swiftly. "But then you— who are you? And what—" What are you doing here, he might have asked. Or what do you want. But Rade’s voice broke and then abandoned him, and he only shook his head in a gentle sway of creamy mane and tattered ears.

None of it made sense anymore. His past. His present. Hell, even his future. With Jaws’s return, they’d gotten all— all tangled up together, and separating one thread from the others was a task as impossible as bringing his brothers back from the dead.

stallion / palomino roan / arab mix / 15.1 hh