welcome home

He lingers here. He leaves, sometimes, but he lingers just as often: waiting for whoever it is Kiada told him about. For a revelation. For something. The white spires remind him a little of things he's known, so he is content to stand in their shadows when he wants for rest. It seems safe enough, for a place Seiji fails to trust at all. Often, only the echoes of his own hooves occupy the space. Or the constant drumming of rain... But he's a little cheered by this, even if it chills him to the bone when he's foolish enough to stand out in it for long. Rain fell often during the wettest months on the island; he recalls standing out in the garden and laughing, recalls being told to come inside, Seiji, what the hell are you doing. So he's moving out amongst the buildings when he hears her call: her voice a fragile thing competing with the downpour. He pauses just a moment, thinking. He has no real reason to go, but the pull to be with others shoves him onward. He doesn't know them; they are not his. He misses so badly the warmth of companionship he goes to them anyway, his gait quickening up into a sharp trot. He remains as fit as he ever was, comprised almost entirely of muscle and bone, even narrower and darker in the downpour than he might otherwise be. He spies just two of them on his arrival. Quickly, he breaks to a walk. Stops himself a distance away from Kiada, though he gives her a friendly nod. His gaze sweeps briefly to the antlered man, whom he recognizes but doesn't know well. He nods to that one, too, and then he waits — for whatever might occur. In the back of his mind, still the treacherous thought: perhaps this time he might learn something.

img by Tildae @ flickr