He stood at her feet, a worshipper of her essence, of her unchanging-yet-ever evolving nature. The world around them kept shifting, appointing new leaders, tying new lives together and pulling others apart, and yet She remained the same. Ever present, ever constant, and never the same.
Wulfric lingered in her shadows as he had done since he was a small boy, observing the shadowy behemoth that had come to call the Ridge his own. The revelation came only days after Wulfric had come across his half-brother's body lying prone at the edge of the pool. It could not have been more than a few hours past when the life left his body and yet She was already reclaiming the energy she'd given to Drogon.
my throat is raw
He stayed for a time, keeping vigil as he sorted out his own complicated feelings for his older sibling. Drogon had done his best to gather what Rougaru had abandoned, but in his heart, he was no better than the venomous mare that had raised them. He was equally as willing to use and harm the equines around them as she had been, so long as he achieved whatever goal had struck his fancy most recently. Wulfric still considered himself lucky to have never fallen into the worst of their scheming. He was too broken, too unwanted to ever feel familiar in their hatred.
Scars of gruesome shapes and sizes covered most of his topline, leaving raised welts where no hair grew. Without them, he might have been considered handsome with his father's silver mane and mother's bright overo patterning. As it was, he was hard to look at by most, and kept to the shadows always. He rarely sought other creatures out, save for his Nyxx.
from screaming
to a god
Wuflric still did not understand what the pretty mare saw in him, or why she tolerated his nearness at all. By all accounts she should have gone (and stayed) running the first time she met him, the first time she
saw him, and yet he found himself still finding excuses to orbit her position on Atlantis. Even now, he felt his allegiance torn between the mother Jungle and the angel that lived beneath her boughs.
"Too poetic," he murmured quietly to himself in the relative quiet of midnight.
"Even for you."
who isn't listening
The jungle grew still behind him and he turned, expectantly to face the arrival, relatively certain that he remained shadowed by night.