[ Post a Response | Desreal ]
Posted by Phyr on October 4, 2008, 10:11 pm Ilius had been but a heartbeat in the greater scheme of Phyr’s life, marked by shallow horses and bitter, childish politics. There were very few horses he cared to remember, even as a faceless name. One of those was Ozymandias. I’m sure the Mad Yak would be indescribably touched to be so blessed. All jests aside, though, Phyr had been intrigued by Phlegethon’s stone king, if only for his blunt and overpowering personality. If ever a horse insisted upon recognition, it was Ozymandias, and so Phyr had humored him and remembered not only his name, but also his scent, and that was what had drawn him beyond Andarin on this dark night. Phyr waited in Desreál as though he were entitled to the other stallion’s company (a symptom of past experience that had long since scrubbed away his recognition of rank, birth, and propriety), his self-assured posture still vaguely reminiscent of a warrior’s ready stance. Even with speckles of gray invading his swarthy muzzle, the black stallion couldn’t discard old habits. “Ozymandias, king of kings,” was all he said to the silence, his tone subtly ironic.
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