rade

The Commons. Let’s go.

For a brief, blissful hour, the stallion tasted what it was to be alive again. No, more than alive. For the duration of his journey with the bone-white mare, Rade remembered what it was to be invincible. It was like— like the Vulcan’s words dug through the layers of his grief and regret to find the flickering ember of determination buried at their heart. We need to un-fuck things, Rade. Like they’d fueled that cinder into a flame that razed the forest of his doubts to ash. It’s time. And then— then there were syllables falling from the scarred roan’s lips, forming the vaguest suggestion of a plan that Anath somehow understood. Because she understood him. Because somewhere along the way, the boundary between enmity and admiration had blurred.

Because they were more alike than shadow and light had any right to be.

But darkness— darkness was all that the pair found waiting for them in the Commons. In the deep grey of twilight, only the synchronous rasp of their breaths broke the silence, and only the pale silhouettes of their bodies stirred. For a while they waited, two stone-carved statues who watched the waves’ obstinate rise and their inevitable fall. Then the old General began to speak, weaving the tapestry of a past that might have matched his own. Here and there were the bright threads of significant moments— of victories won and children born, of happiness and hope and even love— but mostly, the colors were bleak. The clay of Anath had been molded by early loss until she became what she was, a creature hardened by grief and sharpened into fierce and unforgiving edges. But there was still a softness to the champagne mare; a longing. He'd seen it when she spoke of her son, and saw it again when she spoke of Salem. Of the Desert and the war, of the ghosts she’d chased to its shore… and the silver-haired Queen who found her there. Nyimara.

Cullen. It didn’t matter to Rade that his partner made no mention of seeing the overo male. It didn’t matter that the ex-Boss and silver bay had parted ways long ago. If there was even a slender chance that he might hold his son accountable for what he’d done, then he would chase it— and if Cullen proved absent, perhaps his Companion might answer in his stead. With a new purpose, the coals in his chest blazed hot again, eliciting a sharp hiss that somehow became a snarl. Show me the way, he’d said, and she had. Together, Anath and the palomino followed the Crossing’s western shore until it veered south. Together, they threw themselves into the sea. And once there, he was alone. Once there, he fought the ocean’s merciless tide, lost, and was swept away.

It was only hours later that she found him on the mainland, a weathered creature without ferocity or flame. But it would be days before Rade found the strength to stand for longer than fleeting moments, and weeks before he was certain in his ability to return. During that time, the retired General stayed with him, and the inexplicable gravity that had brought them together tugged them closer. Close enough that it no longer felt strange to say her name without the familiar edge of contempt. Close enough that he had to remind himself they’d once been enemies. Close enough that she began to creep beneath his skin; that there could only be one answer to the curious warmth that he felt beside her.

He ran.

Cold; he was cold. Beads of saltwater froze to the dusted gold of Rade’s coat, and his legs felt wooden and numb. But as he staggered across the Lagoon’s invisible boundary, a fierce gratitude surged through the bachelors’ king. Home.. The air pressed from his lungs in a sobbing gasp, and he slumped against the trunk of a tree, relishing the scrape of bark against the tender skin of his cheek. He was home. Sucking in a lungful of the crackling air, the roan called out for his Marauder, to his General. And for Jaws, too. He needed to know that his brothers were still here, that his family was still here. He needed to know that they were okay. And he needed to be know that that after he was gone, they'd keep moving forward; that they'd keep striving towards good.

He needed to— to be seen and remembered as the man he'd become, and not the monster he'd once been.

stallion / palomino roan / arab mix / 15.1 hh