| Lacrymosa |

[Meg]

Lacrymosa could always be found on the beach.

Hoofprints trailed in a long, winding line behind him, darting in and out of the waves, replaying his actions of the past few minutes.

Here, he bucked, twisting and turning as his hoofprints spun in circles, cutting deep imprints into the wet sand. A few strides later he reared; his back hooves sunk deep into the sand, and his front hooves hit the ground hard before he took off running again. The hoofprints disappeared altogether as he ran into the deeper water, chest-high at least, and swam in the cold, salty ocean. When he ran out again, it was only to leap over a small piece of driftwood washed ashore, clearing it by three feet on the other side.

And there he was, his black form contrasting sharply against the white foam and crystal water. His mane and tail streamed out behind him, the dark coat gleaming in the harsh sunlight. He was running, his neck stretched out as far as it could go, velvety nose poked out in front and slicing through the air. Water splashed up with every step, soaking his stomach, legs, and chest.

Then he slowed dramatically, moving into a prancing trot with a wonderful, graceful ease. His knees rose high with every step, the thick muscles of his neck and shoulders bunching as he showed off, as he would were any mares around. There were none; he was playing.

Playing; a strange thing for the Lord of the Dark, the hated and loved, the respected and feared, Lacrymosa.

Or, at least, so others may think. But, Lord and Dark brute though he was, when the waves were high and harsh, he ran in them.

He remained nearly in place, churning the water beneath him as he pranced; then, with a sudden movement, he kicked out with both hind legs, snapping them out nearly straight as he bucked. Almost before he landed, he was racing off again, throwing his head up and whinnying for the sheer joy of it.

Joy, peace. The beach gave these things to Lacrymosa, whereas, lately, the rest of Opaque only took them away. His home, invaded by those cursed Lights, and the traitors to their own herds--the Neutrals. He screamed again, but joy was not in that cry.

Then he was silent, letting the wind whipping at his face drown out the cares that came with his position.