Post by Kairillion on Mar 29, 2013 17:26:31 GMT -5
Kairillion had long since learned how to be independent, be someone without the shadow of his father looming dark and huge behind him, threatening his own position every step he took. Kai had never been able to shake off his fame and just mingle - he always was recognized by other equines. Be it because of the regalia (seldom) or his huge golden wings, there was no way of appearing like less than he was, or even someone else completely.
He had learned to live with that, build up a reputation of his own a fun-seeking guy just out there to kick up some dirt, have a good time and vanish back to his fathers kingdom. In a sense, that had been true; for a while the 'public persona' had worked almost too well, but he had never lost sight of who he was or who he one day would become. He was the sole heir to the king of the Angelic Alliance, which meant that one day, he'd follow in his fathers hoofprints and become king.
And he would be ready for that honor and responsibility whenever it fell to him.
But until then, he wanted to enjoy life - while he still could. He was careful where it was needed, confident enough in his skills as a fighter and flyer to know he would likely survive - whether it was fight or flight that kicked in, he was uniquely capable of both. Wings too could be used to offensive ends, after all, a lesson he had been learned at early age in a mostly painful way, given the pummeling he had received every now and then. Nowadays, he looked back on those days with something like nostalgia. They weren't the best days, but they weren't bad either. Less drama, what with his brother still being around.
For a moment dark golden ears drooped a little as the paint faltered in his stride, momentarily caught up in memories of his beloved brother and how said brother had met his end. A full body shiver ran through him, feathers rustling violently before he settled down again, re-folding his wings to get comfortable again before he kicked off in a canter again, effortlessly negotiating the small hill that overlooked the sloping mountainside, lush alpine meadows a welcome change from the see of tall trees - most with enough space between them that he, even with half-folded wings, could navigate around without having to be too careful. Kicking it up a notch, he skidded to a halt on top, rearing up as if it was the most natural response - and to him, it just might - and throwing open his wings in a sudden burst of motion. The almost-cream color of the underside of his wings effortlessly meshed with his white belly and side (on the left side, anyway) and thus seemed to make not much of a difference. According to some mares, it made him look cute, but that was not something he liked to dwell on. A tough stallion and leader preferred to hear other adjectives. Flapping his wings once to maintain his rearing position, he let out a loud neigh, satisfied to hear it roll off the mountain back into the valley, to announce that he, Kairillion, son of Demetri and Evanna, heir to the Pegasus throne, was now lord and protector of this landscape.
The mountains had always been a siren's song to him, a sanctuary of sorts. The highest tops were his domain - what was impossible to reach for regular horses, was but a few flaps of his own wings away. It was that freedom that he had always admired - it had been that freedom that had, in the end, inspired him to lay his claim on this land. Between the high tops often hidden by the clouds and the tall evergreens populating the sides of the mountains, he knew that he could find refuge here, build a life at least semi-separate from his father, the king. Prince or not, heir or not, he wanted to live his life before it was too late, before he had to follow in his father's hoofprints. And yes, he wanted to do that, but not yet.
He had learned to live with that, build up a reputation of his own a fun-seeking guy just out there to kick up some dirt, have a good time and vanish back to his fathers kingdom. In a sense, that had been true; for a while the 'public persona' had worked almost too well, but he had never lost sight of who he was or who he one day would become. He was the sole heir to the king of the Angelic Alliance, which meant that one day, he'd follow in his fathers hoofprints and become king.
And he would be ready for that honor and responsibility whenever it fell to him.
But until then, he wanted to enjoy life - while he still could. He was careful where it was needed, confident enough in his skills as a fighter and flyer to know he would likely survive - whether it was fight or flight that kicked in, he was uniquely capable of both. Wings too could be used to offensive ends, after all, a lesson he had been learned at early age in a mostly painful way, given the pummeling he had received every now and then. Nowadays, he looked back on those days with something like nostalgia. They weren't the best days, but they weren't bad either. Less drama, what with his brother still being around.
For a moment dark golden ears drooped a little as the paint faltered in his stride, momentarily caught up in memories of his beloved brother and how said brother had met his end. A full body shiver ran through him, feathers rustling violently before he settled down again, re-folding his wings to get comfortable again before he kicked off in a canter again, effortlessly negotiating the small hill that overlooked the sloping mountainside, lush alpine meadows a welcome change from the see of tall trees - most with enough space between them that he, even with half-folded wings, could navigate around without having to be too careful. Kicking it up a notch, he skidded to a halt on top, rearing up as if it was the most natural response - and to him, it just might - and throwing open his wings in a sudden burst of motion. The almost-cream color of the underside of his wings effortlessly meshed with his white belly and side (on the left side, anyway) and thus seemed to make not much of a difference. According to some mares, it made him look cute, but that was not something he liked to dwell on. A tough stallion and leader preferred to hear other adjectives. Flapping his wings once to maintain his rearing position, he let out a loud neigh, satisfied to hear it roll off the mountain back into the valley, to announce that he, Kairillion, son of Demetri and Evanna, heir to the Pegasus throne, was now lord and protector of this landscape.
The mountains had always been a siren's song to him, a sanctuary of sorts. The highest tops were his domain - what was impossible to reach for regular horses, was but a few flaps of his own wings away. It was that freedom that he had always admired - it had been that freedom that had, in the end, inspired him to lay his claim on this land. Between the high tops often hidden by the clouds and the tall evergreens populating the sides of the mountains, he knew that he could find refuge here, build a life at least semi-separate from his father, the king. Prince or not, heir or not, he wanted to live his life before it was too late, before he had to follow in his father's hoofprints. And yes, he wanted to do that, but not yet.