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I wake before the sun, in the sullen gray of dawn. I had bedded down in the relative safety of the Ruins for some time now and last night was no different. While it is not an entirely deserted piece of the common lands, it is one of the least frequented places in Beqanna, a factor at the top of my list when considering where to ‘skulk’, as Set would say. The singular advantage of populated areas is that I can usually spend time seeking out magicks, familiarizing myself with the myriad of them as best I can from a distance. My mane and forelock are still growing back from a recent experiment with fire-breathing, the ends pale, curled and breaking off. I keep to myself in order to avoid Niklas and his lot as best I can. While I have no doubt that they can find me easily should they care to, I still find some semblance of comfort in my solitude. I do what I can to protect myself, honing my defenses as I can, and they’ve left me be for nearly two seasons now. I am far from grown but also no longer the beaten, defenseless colt Dretch had quite literally dragged home, covered in lice, skin and bones ...
The air is damp with springtime humidity. The stretch of river I’m bound for is no longer high and swollen with the melting snow of kingdoms and territories further north; in fact, it’s particularly slow here, where it bends away from the Forest before gathering speed for its final push toward Baltia. It is one of my favorite spots and maybe I frequent it too much but I cannot bring myself to break the habit. The woods echo with birdsong as the sun finally makes an appearance above the trees, weak shafts of light catching on the scruffy golden bay of my coat. With nowhere to be and no one to answer to, I stop just inside the treeline, still and waiting for so long my legs begin to tingle from the lack of circulation. Just as suddenly as I’d stopped, I start again, eventually picking my way down the bank and wading into the shallows.
I am what I think is content for the first time in my life as far as I can remember ... and this feeling has me on edge enough that my nights are fitful and my stomach frequently in knots. Knee deep, I drink my fill, always listening for changes in my surroundings. A fish bumps against my leg and I flinch, freezing before letting out tendrils of my particular brand of magic to probe at what I cannot see. Just a regular, normal fish. When I raise my head, water dripping from my dark chin, I watch the forest's shadows with suspicion.
The air is damp with springtime humidity. The stretch of river I’m bound for is no longer high and swollen with the melting snow of kingdoms and territories further north; in fact, it’s particularly slow here, where it bends away from the Forest before gathering speed for its final push toward Baltia. It is one of my favorite spots and maybe I frequent it too much but I cannot bring myself to break the habit. The woods echo with birdsong as the sun finally makes an appearance above the trees, weak shafts of light catching on the scruffy golden bay of my coat. With nowhere to be and no one to answer to, I stop just inside the treeline, still and waiting for so long my legs begin to tingle from the lack of circulation. Just as suddenly as I’d stopped, I start again, eventually picking my way down the bank and wading into the shallows.
I am what I think is content for the first time in my life as far as I can remember ... and this feeling has me on edge enough that my nights are fitful and my stomach frequently in knots. Knee deep, I drink my fill, always listening for changes in my surroundings. A fish bumps against my leg and I flinch, freezing before letting out tendrils of my particular brand of magic to probe at what I cannot see. Just a regular, normal fish. When I raise my head, water dripping from my dark chin, I watch the forest's shadows with suspicion.
