I don't play by the rules

R I K Y N & D U I R Though the call of my daughter’s joy at the sight of me does tug on the tender parts of my heart, there is something about my anger that is unstoppable, once it’s rolling. Drifting by her with what is legitimate lightning speed in my mind’s eye, the terror of my companion as he turns tail and runs from me is not enough to distract me from whom the deer bolts behind. Stopping in a sudden flurry of sand and with a loud snort of displeasured disbelief, my golden eyes fall on Ki’irha. Righting myself to all fours, I stare at the woman who won’t forgive me (not like I’ve apologized), and feel my anger ice itself over. It’s not something I know how to deal with, this bitter resentment that makes the relationship between myself and the starry mare so fragile, or the fact that, beneath that veneer of stone and ice, a heat often lingered. An ear falls back, while the other holds focus on her, and my gilded gaze sweeps across the curves of her body, and the beauty of her starry pelt. Already in trouble with Glacia, however, I decide that it’s probably best to not fraternize with so tempting a subject. With a curt bob of my muzzle and an equally curt remark, I turn to leave, touching Gwyn gently as I pass her on my way to the jungle. "Thanks," I tell the star-glazed warrior, my eyes lingering on her for perhaps a second too long, "come on, Gwyn." Duir, peeking out from behind Ki’irha’s shoulder, tentatively follows after, bleating his own short farewell to the northern mare before following Gwyn and I into the jungle. this is not destruction this is your birth —

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