GABRIEL;

chestnut splash overo, pale blue eyes. 15.3 hands - lean, svelte, lightweight

• remote
• stoic
• independent
• resolute/proud
• aloof
• austere

He was a wasted shell. The edges of his stone-hart were past the crumbling, uncertain fragility that had once been. The nothingness howled now, crashing blindly through his cavernous, isolated mind. He was an entity, he had become something inhuman and it was always the same. Every year. Season to season. Green to golden to barren and still he stood against the skyline; surveying a kingdom of lies - where his children ran and his women cried, where the men he had fought snarled like a swarm of hornets against the steel wall he constructed. There was no change in it all, there had never been any novelty in all the mundane bullshit for him, not now, not ever. And it might have hurt if he had been anything but a crescendo of silence and emptiness. A monster in his own art form; a creature carved from a select shade of desolation of which only a certain few could tune into.

How could they understand? What did they know of this chasm, this void? How could they? They were bombarded with emotions: love, hatred, anger, jealousy, joy. They were oozing with them all, you could see the feelings glowing in the pigment of their skin and the flecks of light in their eyes, the way their mouths contorted with passionate emotion. It was a way of living he would, could, never experience. Incapacitated by the apathy that both strangled him and elevated him. And now, as the days passed, he drew upon his own isolation; turning from everyone and everything he had ever known. Because Fate was not a man. He was a collection of bones and a howling wind that flung aside any ounce of reality that could cross whatever remained of his conscience and there was nothing left but destruction. It had once lit up like an inferno, his doom, but now it simply simmered and hissed like water upon embers. He was eternal and yet deceased all at the same time. He was like nothing else but everything else melded into one. Fate was the azure sky and the pines beneath their feet. He was the wind that blew east and the cries of the eagle that soared upon the horizon.

He didn't know what drew him here of all places but he did know that he wasn't alone. Charlie. The dunskin stallion appeared from the shadows, and Fate, for the first time in almost a year, laid that cool gaze upon him. He was skinnier, but taller but physicality did not matter. It was the look in his eyes, it was the shake in his limbs, it was the tremble in his lip, it was the brokenness that attracted the ghost of a man to glide closer. What had happened to him? Where was that arrogant, hot-headed boy who had once strutted into Cattail Lake? Now there simply stood a wreck, an emotional wreck and suddenly it all became clear because what could Fate expect? For a small moment, he had believed that Charlie had been different - that he was immune to the weakness that surrounded them all. That he would be able to separate himself from such things Paradisum had fallen to, but it seemed not. He should have been disappointed, though that was too difficult to muster. A simple sigh was omitted, his eyes of black and permeating indifference resting unfailingly upon the stallion.

Halloween appeared behind. Charlie. a name. Is he beyond saving? Frankly, Fate wished not to be involved. Instead he merely stood with an expression that vaguely resembled somber objection to the entire situation. He was impervious against them both. Were they suddenly children in a game that taken a terrible turn? Where was the strength?Where was the resolution? Why could they not hold themselves tall? The older stallion curled his lip slowly, his voice a thick, rumbling tone. "Get up."