03-07-2022, 09:26 PM
Just like the monsters and mayhem Kestrell found himself facing, goodbyes were a thing the vagabond stallion heartily disliked. There was no telling if you’d ever meet a strange character again, the world being as vast and dangerous as it was, and his reasoning was a simple one: if it wasn’t killed, avoided, made friends with or fucked, then it was unfinished. Force him to part ways with unfinished business and Kestrell’s mood turned sour.
He didn’t like half-measures, and that much was evident when he scowled toward Ciri’s back.
She was stubborn to the point of self-harm, prideful to a fault, and too bold to acknowledge when the game wasn’t playing out in her favor. Alone, he reasoned she’d never survive.
So? He told himself. Why should I care? Let her fly off - she’s clearly running from something anyways.”
Then, she paused.
Kestrell had been on the verge of deciding that she should be avoided when her figure stilled; for a moment he watched, eyes filled with the gleam of her silver silhouette and those stars, listening as she finally revealed her name. He expected (catching the nearly invisible smile she tosses his way) that she thought it was like tossing him a treat.
“Ciri, Thane of the Isle.” He snorted a casual hmmph at her name, and the irritation wore away into nothing. At least the encounter hadn’t been a total loss. A name was always a good thing to have in the wilds; they could be exchanged like keys, used to grant passage through private territory. But hers was one Kestrell didn’t intend to use soon. Ciri needed no one.
He’d remember that.
Kestrell wasted no time turning his own back on the retreating pegasus. He would rest for a little while, clear his head and start fresh in the morning. That was a solid plan. Then he’d make due south (in the opposite direction she recommended) by wing. He wished the Thane well, but Kestrell wasn’t about to take the advice of another horse that was just as likely to knock his head loose as she was to sing him a lullaby and rock him to sleep. He found shelter and occupation for his wandering mind elsewhere, and soon enough sleep found him willing and ready.
He didn’t like half-measures, and that much was evident when he scowled toward Ciri’s back.
She was stubborn to the point of self-harm, prideful to a fault, and too bold to acknowledge when the game wasn’t playing out in her favor. Alone, he reasoned she’d never survive.
So? He told himself. Why should I care? Let her fly off - she’s clearly running from something anyways.”
Then, she paused.
Kestrell had been on the verge of deciding that she should be avoided when her figure stilled; for a moment he watched, eyes filled with the gleam of her silver silhouette and those stars, listening as she finally revealed her name. He expected (catching the nearly invisible smile she tosses his way) that she thought it was like tossing him a treat.
“Ciri, Thane of the Isle.” He snorted a casual hmmph at her name, and the irritation wore away into nothing. At least the encounter hadn’t been a total loss. A name was always a good thing to have in the wilds; they could be exchanged like keys, used to grant passage through private territory. But hers was one Kestrell didn’t intend to use soon. Ciri needed no one.
He’d remember that.
Kestrell wasted no time turning his own back on the retreating pegasus. He would rest for a little while, clear his head and start fresh in the morning. That was a solid plan. Then he’d make due south (in the opposite direction she recommended) by wing. He wished the Thane well, but Kestrell wasn’t about to take the advice of another horse that was just as likely to knock his head loose as she was to sing him a lullaby and rock him to sleep. He found shelter and occupation for his wandering mind elsewhere, and soon enough sleep found him willing and ready.
Image ©Karl Martens
@Ciri Fin