rade

No; the bone-white woman was not the ghost he’d thought her to be. But she was closer to one than any other made of flesh and bone and blood— perhaps even as close as the Lagoon’s golden leader. Rade could see it in the weariness that threatened to bring her down beside him. He could see it, too, in the familiar way that defiance and pride served to push that weariness away; in the way those things served to hold her together. It was the same way that the stallion managed to pull himself upright. The same way he found the strength to face her with pinned ears and an unspoken threat. Yet the pale dun faced him unflinchingly, refusing to back down where the Boss couldn’t yield. Old and worn-down as both were, it seemed that neither legend was ready to fade into the oblivion of memories. And they certainly weren’t ready to be forgotten, as all memories inevitably were.

It was strange... witnessing just how similar two opposing forces could be when they were stripped bare of the trappings of vigor and youth.

I think we’re both too old for that, and the bullshit that goes with it. And— huh. The unexpected words coaxed a bark of laughter from the stallion before he could bite it back. Like the creature who’d voiced them, they were stripped of every adornment; spoken without the filters of custom and courtesy. A no-fucks approach that was appealing in the way it bypassed all the nonsense and platitudes and cut straight to the point. And so— casting his inhibitions aside with a sharp flick of his tail— Rade decided to give it a try, too. "I think you can agree that we’re both too old for any kind of bullshit, especially the sort that only wastes time." Yeah, it was definitely cathartic to simply say the first thing that came to mind without worrying about its repercussions. Too bad it would never work on the likes of Roisin and Oswin. Or his own brothers, for that matter.

Unrattled, his companion continued— again, driving past the hollow gestures of civility and straight to the point. I’m looking for a boy— Somehow, the golden roan wasn’t surprised. When you got to a certain age, it seemed, life became nothing more or less than an endless search. Without the promise of anything new ahead, the old and inform sought comfort in the familiarity that they’d left behind. But what the champagne mare was looking for— it wasn’t here. The past wasn’t known to wait around for those who’d walked away from it; only chance had reunited him with Jaws.

"No." It was the only answer she’d asked for, and the only was obligated to give— but even with a no-fucks approach, it felt like too little. Heaving a sigh, Rade gestured at their surroundings with a sweep of his chin. "You’re welcome to look, if you don’t believe me. But he isn’t here." A beat of silence, then he continued in the same grim, gravelly tone. "Dead, probably. Not sure if you’ve noticed, but our kids’ve made a regular shitshow of everything. Started killing each other off as soon as we turned our backs, and here we are now." Another sigh, this one softer. And a glance that offered understanding, if not compassion.

"Sorry." Another pause, a shifting of frail and battered limbs. "This Stratton— he was your son?" It wasn’t his business, really. But Rade asked anyway, because he knew how much it’d hurt to lose his own children.

And though some of them might yet live, they were no less gone for that possibility.

stallion / palomino roan / arab mix / 15.1 hh