badblood [any]

[Errant]

when my time comes around lay me gently in the cold dark earth Though it would be easiest for the king to accidentally slip while traversing a glacier or fall into the northern sea, Errant is accustomed enough to fickle fate to be nearly sure that such a blessing will never occur. The youth of the Tundra are ready to commit murder; they are prepared to turn the Tundra red with blood. Errant is not so eager. And so he struggles with a solution, one that will be quick, efficient, and permanent. Magic would be an easy fix, but there are consequences to that that he’s not yet ready to face. Spring is slowly making its way across the Tundra, and Errant passes through the tall grass that has sprouted seemingly overnight. There are no flowers yet – those are for early summer- but the kingdom is green and bright with new growth. It is not hard to find the black king; he is one of the few horses that are always alone. Errant has shed his bay roan coloring as time has passed and is now back to his natural midnight black. The silver of his scars glint a little too brightly as he steps up beside the younger horse, bobbing his head in greeting. “What are your plans for the Tundra?” He asks. Mountain had told them something, back when they had all gathered together. No one had agreed with the plans though, and Errant wants to gauge the changes that the king has made as a result. e r r a n t no grave can hold my body down i'll crawl home to her