No Promises

Away. Away. Away. He is running. Running: as he has never run from anything in his life. Not until that one day, the last day, the day his life unraveled. The memory chases him now through Halyven. Away from Halyven. Down, down, down from the cliffs and the trees and toward the sea. The memory: cold jaws opening, ice riming his heels, heart punching like an animal trapped. Go! Go! Go! Nothing threatens him now, but he runs regardless. From them; from responsibility. From the too-tempting embrace of new friends and new safety in this place, this place, he wants to tear down this place! Rocks skitter out from under his hooves; down the cliffs. He moves with abandon and yet he is too sure-footed to fall. His body knows itself. It places hooves exactly where hooves need to go, shifts weight, careens in blind harmony toward the bottom (not his ocean not his beach not — not — not —). Tide pools: his reflection a silhouette. Long, long strides: a bird in flight, barely skimming the ground. He is running; he was made for running. The land will give out before he does and then what? Then what? The water rises in silver arcs around him, churned up by his passage. It settles again in his wake. The trees whisper, but don't move. They don't know anything. Perhaps they never will. So he runs. So he ran. Away. When he stops, he realizes he doesn't know why. His lungs burn and his legs burn and the tide is before him, implacable and endless. The sea shifts but it is not his sea; it does not sing in time to the voices of his birds. It is a foreign sea, a strange sea, reflecting back at him a face not quite his own. He should not have come, he thinks. Isn't is always easier to walk into hell? Didn't Orpheus proceed with ease until the moment came to turn around? What does that mean, for him? He stands above the water and looks in and feels disquieted. He want to be calm, but he can't. He wants to apologize, but dares not return. He is wretched; he is foolish. He begins to pace. Sorry, he thinks. It plays again and again in his mind. Sorry, sorry, sorry sorry. Sorry, everyone. I have made a mistake — He stops pacing. Very still now, he stares out over the water. Fractured pieces glitter dangerously inside of him but so long as he holds still, they don't puncture anything.

img by Tildae @ flickr

@Roscorro
ooc // Meant to be after welcome home at least several hours. Anyone else who was at the meeting and would have wanted to follow him is welcome, but no others, please.