08-19-2012, 04:10 AM
Early morning of the 21st
All throughout the night he had carried on, through the darkness and the danger, without thought for his weary body or his aching wounds. What kept him plodding slowly onwards with only Artan to guide him his way was the bottle of clear amber liquid from which he occasionally took a swallow. It clouded his mind and made him feel fuzzy but it also motivated him to move, to keep going where he might have stopped and made a camp for the night. The stallion beside him was tired too, his head held low as he took step after step, wanting to get his master home safely, knowing he was unable to do so himself.
Only when he crossed the home borders did he put away his drink although the stench of it and many other nights spent consuming it clung to him like a scented glue. Once vibrant eyes were dull and lifeless as the drink stole away his rose tinted glasses and he saw his world for what it was with total clarity. His own mother had rejected him and worse she had physically attacked him, that kind of shock had left a scar on his heart much deeper than any could on his body.
His slow plodding gate soon brought him to the stables where he drunkenly unpacked Artan's saddle bags, removing his tack too and managed to put away his makeshift saddle and reigns. He stumbled though as he carried fresh water to the stallion's stable and ended up spilling some on himself although he did not care at all. He took the three saddle packs full of dried meat and deposited them in the storage room where they kept the rest of their food put aside for lean times. Then with his tasks complete he fell asleep against the wall of the stable, the stitches pulling uncomfortable against his skin.
All throughout the night he had carried on, through the darkness and the danger, without thought for his weary body or his aching wounds. What kept him plodding slowly onwards with only Artan to guide him his way was the bottle of clear amber liquid from which he occasionally took a swallow. It clouded his mind and made him feel fuzzy but it also motivated him to move, to keep going where he might have stopped and made a camp for the night. The stallion beside him was tired too, his head held low as he took step after step, wanting to get his master home safely, knowing he was unable to do so himself.
Only when he crossed the home borders did he put away his drink although the stench of it and many other nights spent consuming it clung to him like a scented glue. Once vibrant eyes were dull and lifeless as the drink stole away his rose tinted glasses and he saw his world for what it was with total clarity. His own mother had rejected him and worse she had physically attacked him, that kind of shock had left a scar on his heart much deeper than any could on his body.
His slow plodding gate soon brought him to the stables where he drunkenly unpacked Artan's saddle bags, removing his tack too and managed to put away his makeshift saddle and reigns. He stumbled though as he carried fresh water to the stallion's stable and ended up spilling some on himself although he did not care at all. He took the three saddle packs full of dried meat and deposited them in the storage room where they kept the rest of their food put aside for lean times. Then with his tasks complete he fell asleep against the wall of the stable, the stitches pulling uncomfortable against his skin.