you’re miles away but i still feel you

He’s never been a wanderer. Perhaps only in his youth, in the fragmented years between leaving Silver Cove and that brief period with Isnofret and finding Scorch in the Meadow, could he ever claim the title of a wanderer. Each day has always needed a purpose for him. His life has consisted of reaching for goals, of enjoying the daily rhythm, of finding meaning. His family has always answered those desires for him, even when it had just been the pair of them (russet-strength and fire-passion) tangled under the shade of the Jungle. Hestoni’s life has always been guided by a motive to serve with a purpose. It had been serving the Jungle, serving his wife, serving Nerine — and now he finds himself thrown into a world entirely blackened with chaos.

The russet had spent too much time lingering between borders. Although it hadn’t taken Hestoni long to take what was left of his shredded heart and leave Nerine, it has taken him much longer to settle away from his ragged, scarred wife. She has always been home to him. The sounds of the Jungle’s melodies echo in the rough drag of her voice; the warmth of a sacred place of protection found in the caress of her lips; the scents of familiarity and brisk rainforest waterfalls dancing and twining along her neck. The winter months drag on without her warmth to hold him.

Even when spring finally comes, he waits. He spends his days caught in the messiness of his mind, wondering about the child she has surely birthed that is not his own. The deep gash in his knee has healed and left a fresh, puckered scar across the deep chestnut of his flesh. Yet Hestoni wanders (a fraud of a wanderer, for it has never been his way) until spring is beginning to melt into summer. On a warm morning, he finds himself at the border of Tephra, unprepared about politics or plague. He is heart-heavy and slowly healing, but the weight of Scorch’s betrayal still presses against his broad shoulders.

Hestoni is silent as he settles just outside the border, resting a hip against the security of a tree trunk. His face is a reflection of that serious man so many years ago (a face Isnofret used to tease him for, dancing and laughing and jumping until he finally cracked a smile), but the colors of deep sadness linger in his brown eyes. A bird caws above his head just as Hestoni wearily decides that if no one greets him by afternoon, he will enter the kingdom regardless.

hestoni

you’re miles away but i still feel you

The silence before Magnus’ arrival gives the chestnut too much time to think. His mind aches from the weight of his thoughts, just as his heart is weary from the effort of mending itself. Hestoni’s thoughts dance toward his wife for a brief moment, perhaps to wonder about her day or what the child looks like. Just as her rugged face is beginning to materialize in his mind’s eye, his heart gives a vicious twist that sends a pang throughout his chest.

The force of that pain drags his brown eyes up toward the sight of the volcano’s mouth and the plumes of ash that drift from it. There is something peacefully upsetting about Tephra, he decides, but he isn’t sure whether the source is its people or the scenery. The Jungle held that same dangerous beauty: lines of a gentle face etched with battle-scars and warrior-paint. The thought is familiar and comforting against his time of turmoil and chaos.

The sound of someone approaching tips Hestoni’s russet head down and toward the source. He watches the stranger easily, unwilling to cross the border unless he was welcomed. Although his parents were wild, lusty creatures full of darkened thoughts and selfish desires, the Jungle and its Daughters taught him much about politics and the ways of the Old. He takes comfort in those teachings now, certain that he can rely upon them in the absence of Scorch.

“Hello, Magnus.” Hestoni’s voice is deep and smooth, the echo of a low thunder’s rumble in the near distance. He pauses for a moment and uncertainty flashes across the red of his bold face. There are many things he might need help with, Hestoni supposes. Help with his marriage, help with his relationships with his children, help with finding his own path in life. All these thoughts press into his weary mind in a matter of milliseconds, but he says instead, “I’m looking for a worthy place to serve.” Despite the chaos he is enduring now, Hestoni does not hold evil in his heart and he will not work within a kingdom that is evil. His impression of Magnus does not suggest that Tephra is a place like that, and so he lingers on the border still. “My name is Hestoni.”

hestoni