It's currently Spring of year 1.
Alone was such a simple word, but it held so many profound meanings to that whom it labelled - it implied that was had been abandoned, or perhaps isolated, or they had even isolated themselves. In Griffith's case, all three were true.
Indeed, he was alone. It was like the cold air of mountains, a wake up call to the creak-kneed shepherd that there was work to be done despite the early morning. It was the frigid ocean waters before an oncoming tempest, warning the captain of a ship that trouble was headed his way. And it was the soft kiss of fine sand, almost satin-like in its embrace, reminding Griffith of the home that had betrayed him, and all he'd been forced to leave behind.
He'd thought he'd been coping with it well until now. He'd been strong, as strong as he could be when everything was so foreign and new. When every step led him into exotic lands, none of which he could come even close to calling familiar. He'd been convinced that he had been able to shed off the shell of that was this hellish fear, this paranoia that had haunted the path ahead of him. The thought that caused his every breath to tremble, like a paper lantern set afloat on a dark sea - they were after him. He was never safe. He hated fear - it was jarring, and unsettling, and worst of all, unfamiliar. It was not something he planned to feel again after this hectic chess game was over, and all the pieces had been tossed off the board.
Now alone - alone was familiar. It was the only scrap of home he'd brought with him, the only feeling he could think back to to remind himself that he was someone - that he felt, and breathed, and he could rise. Because he'd been back from the brink before, risen like the spring tide to take back what was his by right. He could do it again.
Or so he'd told himself.
Now, standing here, he was not so sure. The homesickness that washed over him was like the ocean's waves. Beating again and again, unrelenting, chipping away at ancient sea stones, tossing the thoughts in whirling eddies and spitting onto shore the unwanted things of the depths that he had not thought he could reach. This ocean - it looked so much like the seas of home, still and cerulean and peaceful. Even the archway of ridged stone was similar to that which had welcomed home the Capital's sailors as they entered the center of commerce and wealth in the Kingdom. For a moment, if he closed his eyes, he thought he was there. And he was not alone. No, he was surrounded by them; the people he had gathered around himself, the friendships he had built, like a wall. Keeping the evils of the world out.
And he could hear him. Him laughing as they walked along the sandbar, pointing to the leaping dolphin in the distance. That's all yours Griffith had said. It was not a question. I wish I could make this ours, he'd replied.
Griffith would never see that place again. He would never hear that voice again. He would never feel that way again. And in the end, it was his own fault. He was the one that had trusted, had loved, and been betrayed for it.
Never again he swore in his mind, as he let the crystalline waves wrap around him, salt caress marking his hooves with shiver-inducing cold. "Never again." This time he said it. The single, pearl-like tear that rolled down his cheek was lost in the tumult below. That is where it belongs. he thought coldly, watching the occurrence with morbid intrigue. And there it can remain.
He was a silhouette now, fins pierced by the sun's rays, melancholy face lifted to the sky. Mane tossed about by the wild winds, he stood proud, chest filling with raw, eager willpower.
It had been a long time since he'd been this alone. But that was about to change.
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