» every broken promise

P A T R I C K After diving through the portal the young man stumbled about, lost and disoriented, for a time that felt like it could have been days but was probably only hours. In that time he saw no one he knows. He encountered no equines at all, just a strange and pesky animal... but that is another story. Today he is steady on his feet and does not appear lost though he has never been in this place before. He holds his head high, careful not to dislodge the string of little glittering diamonds draped over his neck. He has always displayed certain hints of jealousy when witnessing the use magic and yet it was his own lack of such power that allowed passage to this place with a relatively low price. All he lost was his small tie to the God of the Sun, at least that is all he knows he has lost. Hopefully, he will make good use of the blissful ignorant time remaining to him. It can not last long before he meets someone who knows him and who also knows what became of his family. That will be a sad day for Patrick... He stumbles out of the ghost wood surrounding the portal and wanders north-east to come out up on a flat, desert like landscape. His strides gain a lively bounce as he steps upon this terrain and why shouldn't they? Given where he was born, this is probably starting to feel like home to him. Being desert born he is ever watchful in the wide open expanse but nothing happens upon him this day. Instead, he comes to a point from which he can hear a commotion up ahead. The corner of his mouth tugs upward at that, here is another familiar thing. Reaching a gully full of mist he pauses. The sound of crashing water echoes up from below and with it comes the din of many voices. Nodding to himself he picks his way cautiously down the slope. On the banks of the river a crowd has gathered, a typically cantankerous and generally noisy crowd of the sort that would frequently gather back in Helovia. Yes, despite the shadow and alien darkness this place does have it's small hints of home. At the center of this audience is a tall being the shape of which is proving difficult to pin down. It looms huge upon waters themselves stretching upwards from the center of a collection of bone lights which cast an eerie teal glow over the beings already creepy appearance. Patrick has encountered Kisamoa before, as have they all no doubt. This creature presents no similarities to the Kisamoa of then, however, and so the blue eyes of the young, sandy coated stallion drift over Kaos with a certain clinical curiosity but no hint of recognition. Soon enough his attention drifts to the surrounding crowd of his fellow equines. Patrick stands at the back of the pack on a slightly raised bit of ground where he can see them all. His gaze travels slowly, catching here and there a figure that must be passing familiar if not well known. There is the blue feathered boy (Iskra), a small brown Pegasus (Melita), a shining butterfly (Clementine), and a large hard-to-miss figure with a white masked face and blood red eyes. He watches Volterra for a short time and if the former Sultan happens to glance his way he will see the long, spiraled horn dip to touch the ground in a gesture of respect. None of these four are enough to bring him deeper into the crowd though. Only one could do that right now. So many children. Then again, there always were especially in Dragons Throat so I shouldn't be surprised. No, it is not the number that is getting to me really. It is the fact that I have realized, with a wrenching feeling of loss, that I am no longer truly one of them. This moment of clarity draws a long, tired sigh from my lips. Koh too is no longer a child and so, looking among the children for her as I always have before is, of course, the wrong approach. I let my eyes drift to the older forms, acknowledging Volterra in silent respect and moving on over the group with hopes continuing to fade as they come to each face that I do not recognize. A second sigh leaves him as his eyes complete their roving with no luck. Of course, the rest of the group is likely to involved in their own loud conversations to hear or to even notice the otherwise silent observer standing at outside edge of their growing force. His ears swivel about catching a word here or there but finding nothing interesting enough to make him charge into a conversation as he might once have done. Instead, he remains silent and watchful, lying in wait for whatever is coming next. will you help me find myself?

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Patrick Notices: @Iskra, @Melita, @Clementine & @Volterra (offers a "bow" to him)
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