You know what? Heck it! I've got a couple free afternoons this week so why not?



Owner: Me?Sarcastic?
Show Name: Softly Sing Sweet Bird
Barn Name: Nightingale
Gender: Stallion
Age: Immortal
Halter color: Could we leave it without?
Pearl/jewel color (halter): ^^^
Themes: Pan's Lullaby and
Ghosts Hobby: If Nightingale could ever steal away a moment to do whatever he wanted, there's only one thing he'd want to do. Watch the birds.
He adores birds. He believes them to be the ultimate symbol of freedom and innocence; two things he will never have. He loves how they can soar high above, free to live happily and can escape from this depressing earth into the air. Their sweet voices and beautiful colors fascinate the stallion and, although he's never seen one up close, they seem to be friendly, if not a bit flighty, creatures. He simply adores them and would very much like to someday just observe them for hours on end as they fluttered about. He would also like to categorize them and keep a running record of which ones he has seen and which he still needs to find, although that may require a bit of help in doing. Unfortunately, all of that is only his fantasy of if he had a normal life.
167 words Picture/story: A soft breeze blew coldly over the midnight blue stallion as he walked slowly towards a mare and foal. In the breeze there was a sound; something melancholy and far away. It was the dead of night. The moon shone solemnly down on Nightingale as he trudged towards the horses. The noise in the breeze grew, and as it did, it began to sound almost like a song; something lonely and sad, as if some great tragedy had happened. Nightingale came to a stop in front of the sleeping mare and foal. A look of pain in his eyes, he kneeled down next to the foal and touched his horn to it's side. His horn glowed a deep blue and that glow spread over the foal. Then, all of a sudden,


the foal body began to turn to cinders, his entire body disintegrating slowly until nothing was left but ash. The breeze caught the ashes and they went swirling, flying far away into the night sky. Nightingale watched as they went, then looked mournfully at the mare. Her face had gone from peaceful to forlorn in a matter of seconds.
The tall stallion stood, and with one last glance at the mare, he walked away. At that moment his own body turning to ash, but at this point Nightingale was no longer scared by that. This was his life. Appearing only to make another disappear, leaving sorrow and misery in his wake. Then disappearing himself only to be remade for the next death. His only purpose was to cause suffering, and he despised himself for it. He didn't have a clue what had created him, or why, but he did know one thing for sure, he was a curse upon the race of horses.
Only once had he tried defying his curse; for a young mare named
Epithymía, which ironically means wish in Greek.
She was laying in the grass, chest heaving and blood pouring from an open wound on her shoulder. Nightingale looked at her, about his age if he had been mortal, and more beautiful than any mare the stallion had even seen. Upon seeing her lying there, helpless and in pain, Nightingale all at once felt like his chest was being ripped to shreds. He wouldn't, he couldn't, condemn this mare to death. So instead, he did something he had never tried before; he shouted out for help. Nightingale had never spoken before. He'd never needed to, but this time was different. The sound of his voice was strange to his ears. It was gruff from lack of use, yet kind of...singsongy. Like the ravens he sometimes would hear crowing when he would appear.
Suddenly, more horses came sprinting towards Nightingale. Two, to be exact. Two perfect healthy, awake horses. Nightingale had never seen that before. Soon, the horses reached him, one ran to the bleeding mare's side

and nudged her with distress. A small moan of pain revealed that she was alive. The other horse, a tall stallion with piercing blue eyes, charged straight up to Nightingale. He held his ground, and the foreign horse stopped only inches from his face. "What have you done to Epithymía!?" He demanded angrily.
"I have done nothing. I found her like this and I called for help." Nightingale replied calmly.
""Boreas, we need to get her help. NOW!" This came from the other new horse, a winsome mare with a flowing silvery mane that looks as if it had been dipped in blue ink.
"Yes, of course." He said to the mare. "You're coming with us, stranger. Make yourself useful and help us carry our sister." The stallion, now identified as Boreas commanded. Then he trotted over to his injured sister and began to help. Nightingale hesitated, wondering if he should run for it. It didn't seem like he was deteriorating this time, but his curiosity about these horses, and concern for the wounded mare, kept him from leaving. Instead, he came up beside the other two horses and helped to maneuver her onto their backs. Finally, she was positioned in a fairly secure spot, and they began to move as a little clump towards a far off group of horses.
After a long, precarious trek, at last the little trio reached the herd, and at once, several horses came up to greet them and take the injured mare away. Nightingale felt dazed, like this was all a dream. He'd never even met one horse, let alone an entire herd. What would they think of him? Would they ask questions about his past? how would he explain why he was there?
He was broken out of his thoughts when the mare from earlier approached him. Now that he was a bit more calm, the stallion noticed that she was pretty young. Five, at most.
"I don't think we ever got properly introduced. I'm Epizón, and the angry one is my brother Boreas. The mare you found is our sister, Epithymía and Boreas is a bit protective of her. Anyways, I haven't seen you around before." 

"Pleased to meet you. I'm Nightingale, and I don't expect you to have, I'm simply passing through here."
"Ah, a lone traveler. You don't see many of those anymore..."
"Woah, what's up with that thing on your head? It's glowing black! You OK? Do you need a doctor?"
"Yes, yes. I'm fine. I've had that all my life. Although it doesn't normally glow."
"Oh, OK. Well, thank you for saving my sister."
"I didn't save her."
"Yes you did. If you hadn't found her and called for help, she might've died. So in return, please stay the night with us."
"But-"
"I insist!"
Nightingale laugh. "Very well. But just for the night." It wasn't just for the night. In fact, Nightingale stayed for years. He learned so much about horse custom and became friends with almost everyone in the herd, even Boreas eventually came around to him. But there was one horse especially who he became very close with. The very horse who had changed his fate forever, Epithymía. After she recovered, the first person she wanted to see, besides her siblings, was Nightingale. Immediately there was a connection. In fact, Epithymía was the first horse Nightingale told about his past...
"What is it?"
"What're you talking about?"
"You only bird watch when your feeling worried. What's wrong?"
"It's nothing. Just something that happened a long time ago."
"What?"
Silence.

"You know you can tell me anything, but if it's to painful..."
"No. No I should to tell someone, or else it might eat me away." He took a deep breath. "The truth is I wasn't there to save you that night when you were attacked. I was there to kill you."
"-What? But that can't be-"
"It is. You see, I'm no ordinary horse."
"Well that I know already. You're a unicorn, rare and majestic and amazing."
"But there's something else. You see, every unicorn has an ability they are born with; a power above the natural because of our magic. This ability is held in our horns, which sometimes glow we use our gift, although mine has been glowing for no reason lately... but anyways, for some this power is positively charged: like healing, empathy, or command over light. For others it's something more negatively charged like the ability to control others, tell the future, or have command over darkness and shadows. But for me, I have something rare, something that keeps you from ever having a normal life. I was born with the curse of being a grim reaper. When any living being with a soul is dying, either of sickness or injury... even old age, I come and take them away to the underworld. Many humans made myths about me and the other immortals. They called me Charon. Silly, I know. Humans can never get things right. But again I'm getting off track. The point is, I only existed when I was to take a soul. Afterwards I'd disappear into the night sky. It was like I'd die with the person, and then only live again to die again and so forth, and I despise myself for it. But when I saw you... I couldn't bear to take you away. You were so full of life... so I didn't do my job, and by some miracle, I've stayed alive. And I'm just worried the time will come when I vanish again and lose you and-"
"Hey. Look at me. That's not gonna happen. Whatever you may have done, it's in the past, and from the sound of it, it wasn't even your fault! Your here now, with me! Promise me you won't worry about this."
"Epithymía, I-"
"Promise!"


"I Promise."
After that night, he truly did keep to his promise, and eventually his past faded into a distant memory. However, one thing remained. Every year, on the night which he saved Epithymía, his horn would glow brightly and a burning sensation would course through his body. At first the pain was only small; a minor discomfort, but every year it grew, and the light from his horn became stronger, until that day exactly five years after saving Epithymía.
"You nervous?" Epithymía asked with concern.
"Nah, why would I be? The fact that last year this stupid horn burnt an entire field to the ground, along with he fact that this year will be even worse is totally easy to handle." Nightingale responded sarcastically. Epithymía chuckled.
"Alright, if you say so, then I think my work here is done." She said, and then pretended to walk away.
"No wait. Yes, I'm very nervous, about the light, about the pain. Everything. What if it never stops growing? What if it becomes so bad that I can't keep you safe from it?"
"Yes because I'M the one you should be worried about. Besides, that's not gonna happen. We'll figure out how to fix it, but for now, we just have to manage. Just remember, I'll be right here waiting for you once it's over."
"I'm counting on that. I love you, Epithymía."
"I love you too."
And with that, Nightingale set off. A few days earlier, he, Epithymía, Boreas, and Epizón had sought out a place for him to go; somewhere he wouldn't hurt anyone and that there weren't many flammable objects. They'd settled on a slow-moving river in the middle of a huge field with only little weeds for miles. It was perfect.
Finally, the midnight blue stallion reached his destination. He walked slowly into the water, and readied himself for the pain that should ensue any minute now... Any minute...


An hour passed, two hours. Nothing.
An enormous wave of relief swept over Nightingale. No longer would he have to deal with the burning pain, or the bright flashes, or...
Suddenly, a strangely familiar feeling overcame the stallion. It started in his legs, then crept slowly up his back towards his chest and neck. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw ashes floating in the air. It clicked.
"No! No, no, no, no, no, no, no! Help! He-" Suddenly his voice was gone. No matter how loudly he tried to scream, there was no sound. It was even more quick than usual. Just before everything went black, he heard a familiar voice.
"Nightingale? Nightingale, where are you?!"
You can't escape fate, Nightingale!"
A soft breeze blew coldly over the midnight blue stallion as he walked slowly towards a mare and foal. In the breeze there was a sound; something melancholy and far away. It was the dead of night. The moon shone solemnly down on Nightingale as he trudged towards the horses. The noise in the breeze grew, and as it did, it began to sound almost like a song; something lonely and sad, as if some great tragedy had happened. Nightingale came to a stop in front of the sleeping mare and foal. A look of pain in his eyes, he kneeled down next to the foal and touched his horn to it's side. His horn glowed a deep blue and that glow spread over the foal. Then, all of a sudden, the foal body began to turn to cinders, his entire body disintegrating slowly until nothing was left but ash. The breeze caught the ashes and they went swirling, flying far away into the night sky. Nightingale watched as they went, then looked mournfully at the mare. Her face had gone from peaceful to forlorn in a matter of seconds.
The tall stallion stood, and with one last glance at the mare, he walked away. At that moment his own body turning to ash, but at this point Nightingale was no longer scared by that. This was his life. Appearing only to make another disappear, leaving sorrow and misery in his wake.


Then disappearing himself only to be remade for the next death. His only purpose was to cause suffering, and he despised himself for it. He didn't have a clue what had created him, or why, but he did know one thing for sure, he was a curse upon the race of horses.
Only once had he tried defying his curse; for a young mare named
Epithymía, which ironically means wish in Greek...
(2,180 words. I may have gotten carried away...)
