Night wasn’t the best time to navigate rough terrain, let alone an area that one hardly knew. Yet Arrik made his trek appear natural and well-practiced. He fairly danced to his empty kingdom tail flagged in Arabesque style. Although his energy appeared to be endless, the great stallion could feel his body beginning to protest. His limbs reacted slower and his muscles felt like they were getting heavier each moment.

Out of the blue, the behemoth stopped, dropping his head and splitting his jaws in an impossible yawn. The action was followed by an invigorating shake that had crimson and ivory hairs exploding from his body. ”Huh,” he huffed, pale blue eyes following some of the swirling white hairs, ”Doesn’t feel like winter.”

He resumed his bold walk, pretending to know exactly what he was doing. In truth, he wasn’t exactly sure, maybe about fifty percent. Okay…less. But wait! That fallen tree! He was close! His crimson head dipped in a slight nod as he acknowledged the landmark.

A handful of minutes passed and the ripples on the dark horizon had swollen into the cliffs of Keltoi. The young stallion dipped his head to snatch a mouthful of grass that tickled his knees. A midnight snack never hurt anyone. ”Home, sweet home.” He murmured, though he didn’t truly feel the sentiment. Well, at least the nights won’t get lonely any more.

With that thought, he swiveled toward Mystic, jaws swathed in his ever-present grin. ”Welcome to the non-kingdom of Keltoi.”

It was beautiful, a miniature world of intricate and beautiful designs softly falling into oblivion. The little white world dipped and twirled as it descended, the sharp designs blurring as it began to fade. Quicker, quicker it fell, its citizens screaming as their existence melted away. Soft as a feather and silent as a shadow, the little white world landed on the painted behemoth, melting into his fur at the moment of impact.

Arrik shivered as a few of the year’s first snowflakes fell, biting his skin as they hit. He hated the cold weather despite being built for it. His body shook with the growing cold. Grow, damnit, grow! His fur didn’t heed the stallion’s desperate command, remaining stubbornly thin. Another glance behind him showed that Mystic seemed to be enjoying this insane chill. Crazy, crazy mare. He chuckled. She would make an excellent friend, and perhaps more in time.

His trademark lopsided grin lifted his lips yet again at Mystic’s inquiry. The russet skull lifted high in a jubilant nod. ”Yep! Notice how we are the only inhabitants? I only thought it into existence recently!” To say that he stood beside the good-looking mare would be a lie. Although his body remained in the same place, his legs were in constant motion- shuffling, shifting and dancing. Time be gone, he wanted to run now. He was excited, thrilled and every other happy derivate that existed and then some.

”If you wish, you can call this home.” Despite how energized the stallion was, his words were soft, unhurried. He didn’t yet want to scare off his new friend. He fought to keep his striped legs still, planting them into the soft soil.

Like a moth to flame, Arrik followed the bonfire mare. It took a moment for her question to register. His head tilted in confusion. That was a sudden change. His eyes glazed over as the stallion meandered though his mind, leafing through a muddy past as one would a vaguely interesting novel. He paused, one mental finger tracing over age-old script. It was faded with guilt, half invisible. Dare he? He should, he should. But could he? He had to. He needed to be honest, no matter how much he hated that particular memory. He could skip over it, tell her of his more recent, less painful moments. But judging by her body language, she needed the truth, how far he had, and could, go when in extreme emotions.

A long-suffering sigh seemed to pull his very essence out of him, a sound that came from within his bones. His head was lowered, held even with his well-muscled chest. Cerulean eyes peeked from behind a curtain of ebony hair.

”Two years past, when I was very young.” His voice was soft, the regret was obvious. Many would have thought the event as nothing much, but not this one. He too had skeletons in the closet. ”I had been arguing with the lead mare of my sire’s herd. It was stupid, really. Being a typical, hotheaded colt, I struck out, had got too excited.” He winced at the memory, as if he were the receiver of his action. ”I ended up snapping her cannon bone. Everyone was pi- angry. I got kicked out. Father had to kill his best mare all because of me.”

What a confession. Who would have thought that Mr. Carefree would have done something like that? Lose control in such a way? Surely he was lying. Why didn’t he tell her something else?! Why didn’t he just skip over that part? But the words were spoken and surely heard, he couldn’t take them back now.

The painted stallion sighed again, lifting his head to stare at the coastline, apparently watching ghosts and memories play atop the hazy horizon. His voice was absent as he spoke, soft, ”I damn well learned my lesson. Whenever I feel angry, I simply leave. No need to repeat the past.”

Whatever the stallion was expecting, Mystic’s words were far from it. He remained still save for the necessities of living. He blinked, as if the motion would calm his clashing thoughts. She had to be kidding, right? Make him feel better for what he had done. Then again, it would explain quite a bit about her demeanor, her quietness and affinity for solitude.

His lips parted and closed like a fish out of water, gasping for words that wouldn’t come. ”Wow.” Intelligent, no? Like a curious avian, Arrik tilted his head, trying to figure this strange mare out. She appeared to have no regret, no thoughts of the event. Surely if she had loved the deceased, she must feel something. Regret? Loss? Guilt? Anger? Unlike him, she was so in control of herself, a trait that the coltish beast admired and coveted.

The grasses whispered as he moved closer to Mystic. She might not enjoy the closeness of another but he sure did. He could already feel some of the tenseness in his muscles melting away with her close presence. ”I’m not one to normally linger on morbid topics, but would you like to talk about it?” He didn’t seem to be the type to be hindered (or quiet) for long. ”If not we can always talk about- or do- something else.”

ooc: haha, yes. only because I'm setting you up for this fail of a post. xD

A soft breeze howled through the empty land, tossing the grass blades about as it weaved between them. It was a lonely, aching sound. One crimson ear tilted down the slope that the two horses stood on, listening to the noise as it traveled toward the ocean. Perhaps that was how Mystic felt, judging by the rawness that was reflected in her eyes. His heart all but broke at that expression. In that moment, he wanted to do anything in his power to wash it away, to make her happy. But this was the real world and despite how much he wanted it to be otherwise, miracles didn’t happen.

And so he did the only thing he could, stepping closer, he lifted his head to rest it over her bonfire withers, saying without words that he believed her, that he was here, that he didn’t want her to hurt. His eyes closed and it was as if his own event had happened last night. The pain was still there. Granted, he hadn’t loved Blanca, not like Mystic had loved her stallion, but he still felt guilt for causing her death. He stopped halfway through the motion when her head suddenly swung, nearly clipping him in the jaw. Startled, he backed a step before realizing that she was nearly scratching an itch.

The coppery scent of blood was faint, but Arrik smelled it. Small wrinkles appeared around his muzzle as he wrinkled it in distaste. Must’ve been a pretty big and persistent bug to do that kind of damage, he thought, wincing on her behalf as he sidled to Mystic’s side to peek at the wound. The wound was larger than a bug bite, deeper and wider. ”Itchy much?” He asked with a (gentle) playful bump to her flank, careful to stay away from the wound.

The wind continued to howl, filling in for the awkward silence that settled between the two. He backed up another few steps upon seeing Mystic’s relief when he moved away. So strange, she was quite the opposite of the masculine social butterfly. It was when his eyes trailed over the open landscape that he felt the familiar burning sensation in his legs. The muscles twitched in anticipation of a run. Restlessly, he shifted, unwilling to leave the fiery mare’s side.

He lowered his head to nip at a few blades of grass, the withered plants leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. Charcoaled lips puckered at the flavor, his body quaking in a shudder. I can’t wait until spring! He longed for the warmth and new life, the painter’s bright palette brushing in vibrant blooms. He couldn’t wait to see the young ones frolicking about, celebrating in joy and life. He huffed a sigh, knowing that he wouldn’t see any progeny of his own this year, but maybe, maybe the next.

Arrik swung his head back to the mare, a gently look upon his face. His voice was soft and slow despite his racing thoughts: What do I do? WhatdoIdowhatdoIdo?! ”Everything okay?” Dumb question brute.

Their wings beat, tickling the bars of his chest. Why were butterflies always like that, their light touch always urging him to laugh and be merry. Could it be? No, surely not! Arrik shook his head, but couldn’t quite brush his wacky grin away. Her own upturned lips did nothing to help. ”That’s good,” he murmured to himself, his thoughts finishing the statement, you can smile, it’ll be okay. The breeze, it seemed, brought a flurry of emotions across her crimson-hued face before scrubbing them away, like lifting a mask to reveal the actor.

The light dimmed in his eyes at this, but only a touch. If anything, he would try to be peppy enough for the both of them, help her keep her head above the steely waters of despair. Like that of a curious bird, the massive stallion tilted his thick head, waiting for Mystic to finish her statement. When it was obvious that she wouldn’t, he sidled close, legs crossing over one another in a dance that betrayed his Spanish heritage. ”Tell you what? The secret to the universe? What goes on in the minds of little boys?”