An Unkindness [Luna Azul]

Nights in the forest were, and had always been, eerie and unlikable - at least as far as Oriole was concerned. While some woodlands have the trill of crickets and the hooting of owls to fill the darkness, the ancient forest had only its oppressive silence. As if, even as the herd slept, they were being judged. Oriole had always fancied the massive trees as the spirits of his ancestors, condescending and disapproving of all that he was. Instead of running from his perceived scrutiny, however, he thrived at the thought of his father watching from up in those boughs. He loved knowing there was no one left to tell him how worthless he was - at least, not due to his birth. He was useless for all sorts of other reasons, but not because he was his father's disappointment. Sometimes he wondered how he might have turned out if his father had been nurturing, but he found it useless to dwell on the prospect. He was twisted, but not broken, and there was little to change that.

To honor his father's memory, Oriole had continued to make a mess of things in the most glorious way. Not only was he leading the herd completely free of the old traditions - oppressive, arbitrary, demeaning traditions - he was also bringing about a new change, a new generation. Traditionally, the throne of the West was held by royalty, by blue-bloods. In other words, from the study in genealogy forced down his throat, he had a lot of mated cousins in his lineage. Only the purest line would do, and if an outsider did have to be brought strategically into the gene pool, it was always a useful union.

His father would have spit in rage to know that Oriole had elevated a nobody mare from the South to be his queen.

However, to Oriole it had made all of the sense in the world - a joke all to himself, though the traditionalists would seethe. She seemed a capable sort, at least in the brief period he'd actually talked to her. At least, she was as good as any, seeming to have more of a temperament for leadership and a sense of right and wrong that he himself had. If he wanted to make anything of the West, with the least amount of actual leadership on his part, he'd need a steadying hand. And though he would hate being tethered, the intelligent part of him knew it was a necessary evil. He'd hardly even seen her - Luna Azul - since her ascension, but her presence within the herd left him at ease.

Therefore, it wasn't really troubled thoughts that had Oriole moving through the forest in the dark, though he did feel restless. In all honesty, he'd enjoyed his years of traveling outside of the West, and on nights like this he felt smothered. He needed to move, to feel a sense of freedom even though he was trapped by his own volition. On such nights, he'd make his way to the forest's edge, where the trees thinned and the moonlight reached the forest floor. He could breathe easier there, able to look across the beginnings of the plains, knowing that he could leave, if he so chose. He didn't so choose, but he still felt the clenching around his heart release, and the painted buckskin stallion let out a sigh, part relief and part frustration. On these nights, he would stay until the sun rose in the east, awakening a new day. He had a few hours before then, however, to spend with his thoughts. To reaffirm that he made the right choice, that he was following his own path.

Some nights, he even believed it.