Vladislav Draculesti strolled through the empty field of grass. It was night, of course. He was barely able to keep his eyes open during the day. That particular night was a cold one in the depth of winter. The dry and dead grass crunched beneath his hooves as he walked, bursts of sound in the silence. Even the bats that usually followed him were gone for the night. It was too cold for them, he expected. His own leathery wings were tucked tightly against him to conserve heat.
He remembered the many nights he had spent like this with Brooke when she had been alive. He would muse on the mysteries of the world or the depths of their lives and she would tease him for thinking too much. He wondered what she would say if she could see him and how he lived his life now. Would she be happy for him and that he had found himself a new group of soquili to surround himself with? Would she be jealous for the mares whose company he enjoyed? Would she tease him for still being lost in his brooding thoughts when the whole world was out there and he was part of it?
He rumbled a chuckle at that last thought. She probably would think that he was over-thinking his life again, as usual. Some things never changed.
