I feel remorse that I'll never meet you, Khaleesi.

Frodo Silvertongue · 11-27-2011, 12:08 PM

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Forward dated to the 3rd december. wc; 572

A bright blue sky and a sunny hot day greeted the horse and it’s rider as they traversed the sandy-shores of the shattered coast. They were right on the edge of the coast, the southern most part where the grass was white and few in number, the sand a golden brown and the sea a turquoise blue. The horse’s hooves made barely a dent in the hot sand as they cantered, on an upbeat, smooth rhythm. It was a warm day for winter, and it was nice because Frodo and Strider were very much used to warmth, and comfortable in the heat. Frodo especially preferred warmer, sunny climates. And after leaving home for so long, there was no better way for him to celebrate his return then a day at the beach. It was a one-off day though, the wolf knew that. Soon winter would come and it would be endless, black days and nights.

They changed course, moving closer to the sea. The Arabian’s hooves splashed through the water as he kept up a steady canter, sending sprays of foam up behind him. Strider then broke into a gallop, his mane and tail flying behind him and shimmering brightly in the sun; his nostrils flared, hooves pounding through the short waves, head tossed as he gathered speed.

They were alive, and free, and fierce, and beautiful.

The glistening, white, equine form moved gracefully through the salty ocean waters, hooves propelling him onwards. After all they had been through, galloping on a beach for Frodo and Strider had to be the best feeling in the world. They could forget their troubles, and loose concentration on purpose. Eventually, the fun had to end though, for everyone got tired. The luperci drew his horse back, slower and slower until they were at a gentle trot, and then he leapt off the horse. They were not carrying anything with them; that was all left behind. Strider had no bride today, no saddle. He was directed with silent communication from his rider, a nudge here, a squeeze there.

Frodo leapt off the horse and sat down in the sand, breathing heavily. It took a lot to have a luperci on your back while galloping, but it also took effort riding. He let his horse trot around by itself for a while; Frodo trusted Strider not to run off. The male sat with his back to the rest of the coast and his eyes to the sea, watching the waves collapse and collide with each other. He fingered the ring-on-a-chain at his neck, and tucked it under the green bandana that also tied around his neck. Just for safekeeping, so nobody saw it. The curly furred, black and auburn male blinked transulsant green eyes in the blinding sun, and took off the heavy satchel that had some neccecities in it. Apart from the satchel, all he had with him were the clothes on his back (a light brown shirt, a cloak of olive green) and the bow and quiver on his shoulder.
He shook some water off his lower body that had managed to find it’s way into his fur, and then he was singing softly, a familiar song that had been his friend for a long time. He was alone, and so he could sing it freely, without interuption or inception.

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