TheBloodyShark

He remembered the days when he was full, full of life and bursting with blood that sang the song of years gone by. The days when he was a mortal, wrapped in fragile skin and cupped in the palms of the earth as she molded him. He knew her well, knew her embrace as safe and holy and virtuous and that all he was and all his people were came from her. Yet the worship did not come from his lips as it came from others, he did not sing scriptures and he did not return to her as the others did in the nights where they felt miserable. No, he understood her but he could not find it in himself to return her love, for his gaze always returned to the sea.

He had wandered for so long that even the perfect skin that contained him began to wear and tear, flesh dry and taut over his bones and his hooves cracked and sore, a sickness in his heart that shouldn't belong. How could he miss home if he didn't have one in the first place? Gods held no home, had no place to rest their weary heads because they did not sleep, they did not still. Their lives were a constant flurry of motion, unending in their duty and cruel in every aspect you could hold. His was far worse than he had ever let his brethren know, never acknowledged the fact even now. He was war, endless brutal bloody war, and there were days h

The world was not kind, it did not forgive and it did not create kindness that was loved, it took and took because it had nothing left to give but hatred. It was this he knew well, had known in the day he was a foal and his back wept with blood, when his legs developed sores none should have even in their youth. He knew it in the eyes of his masters and his fathers, liars and advisors with sharp smiles that tried to draw away from the flashes of greed and perversion lurking in their face. Felt it beneath his hoves in the rain and mud muddled by lives, heard it in screams and the tearing of flesh, the click of armor and rustling of blades draw