O' Sweet Vagabond

[Sammy]

O tyrant love
to what do you not drive
the hearts of men?

"And the road goes ever on and on; it ends back at the place where it begun..."

The soft, deep notes echoed with seemingly little purpose over the hills. Nay, they didn't even echo, really. T'was an exaggeration by any stretch of the imagination, and though he was as sweet a tongue as any, he was surprisingly ill-fond of exaggeration. Nay...the notes idled along with him, caressing absently the invisible strands of wind, the same breeze that lifted the grass in its yielding manner where his feathered hooves bent it into the ground, muffling the sound of his deep-footed movements even as the air carried the same music.

Perhaps it was due to his own good nature, or the fact that, while others seemed to prefer the darkness and pathetic wallowings of self-pity and the bad things of their past, Aeneas built upon himself the will-power to move forward and smile even on his worst days. Or perhaps it was simply the influence of Aphrodite, that larger than life spectre of beauty and love, that allowed the straw-gold stallion to continue on his way, radiating warmth even at his most idle or distracted.

Love to be loved.

Love one's self and others of the same truth would love you.

Well, philosophical thoughts weren't quite on his mind at present, and Aeneas chuckled to himself for allowing them to intrude. Why philosophise and ponder melancholy when there was beauty about you to be enjoyed? Nay, this place was not of the glory of some he'd witnessed, but it was still quite pleasant. Open plains, sweeping grass he could only imagine turned silver in the moonlight, fresh breeze and the occasional patch of flowers, like the wispy patches of cloud in the sky...all things a horse could quite enjoy, if he took a moment to cease his prancing and 'smelt the roses', so to speak.

Aeneas let another quiet laugh escape, shaking his head to free his bright blue eyes of a forelock flaxen in colour, yet streaked with odd partings of silver that seemed a trait of his family line. Well, one could always percieve it as a little quirk of individuality - t'was rather better than angsting over one's looks. Not that he particularly minded...he was quite aware of his looks - gold of hide, strong of limb and exceptional as a specimen of height and health, even despite the hollowness of flank that bespoke the trappings of old grief.

But nay...he was quite content to just amble through this pleasant landscape. Content and confident.

"Oh, back at the place where it begun..."