The great desert is quiet at night. Oh, there are sounds of life behind him, deeper in the oasis, but they are not the same as the noises at home. And the sound of the breeze in the sand is not nearly the same deafening noise as a giant waterfall crashing to its depths. He’s not sure about the quiet – it leaves entirely too much time for retrospection.
But then, it’s not as quiet. The boy flicks an ear at the unfamiliar noise, and blinks as the world wavers in front of him. He wonders if it’s some sort of heat mirage – but the air has cooled considerably as they descend into the dark of night, so that doesn’t make a lot of sense. Perhaps it’s just some desert-dwelling magician – they have a couple, including the one he’s here to visit. Before he can decide whether to investigate, the world goes silent to his ears. Completely silent – no breeze, no sand, no bugs, no burrowing creatures. Only the faint musical tolling.
The moon is gone, and the stars, though somehow the world is still lit enough for him to see. He can’t hear and sense the faint presence of other horses around himself anymore, and it makes him tense, stiff as he steps away from the now-still oasis, ears pricked stiffly forward. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that the sound is a summoning of some sort, and so Rhonen goes, with only a cursory glance back to where his family should have been sleeping peacefully. After all, what has he got to lose?
So he follows the sound, even when it grows uncomfortably loud, pounding in his ears, drowning out his own thoughts. The boy pins his ears as he walks, dropping his head in irritation, and can’t help but wonder what he’s doing. Sand has long since vanished from beneath his hooves, leading him into unfamiliar territory instead. As he is considering turning back to the quiet that was before, his attention is caught by a creature out of the corner of his eye and the young stallion spins, legs splayed, snorting his discomfort and lowering his head in a threatening way as he stares into the many eyes of the bizarre little creature. Rhonen stares – assessing whether it’s a threat, trying to ignore the incessant tolling of the bells – but before he can decide he blinks again and the lamb is gone.
He whirls again, eyes flicking about as he looks desperately for it, but instead he finds only a sudden assortment of other horses and a complete silence almost as deafening as the noise that came before it. Into the silence comes a voice. ’Behold!’ it calls, and Rhonen looks around for a speaker to accompany the voice, frowning when he doesn’t find one. ‘The end of the world is nigh!’ the voice continues and he can’t help it – he snickers, sure this is some sort of elaborate joke. Surely no one is taking this seriously!....but the boy looks around a plethora of solemn faces, realizes they are, and schools his own face into his best attempt at solemnity.
‘You are the chosen ones. Will you accept your fate?’ Rhonen wants to ask who chose them. What they’ve been chosen for. What makes them special? The words are on the tip of his tongue, a scowl on his face, but he chokes the scathing responses back when everyone else offers simple acquiesce. He can’t help rolling his eyes, sidling up to the group with a definite skittish air about him. “Sure. Whatever.” is his response, instead of the solid affirmatives given by the others. “I’m here now, I might as well. Especially if the world is ending.” Another quick glance around the group gives him a remembered mental picture of each of his companions. Blue, black and white, chocolate, white-flecked gold, black, amber, and he knows he adds a bright coppery chestnut. Well they’re certainly a diverse group.
“I’m Rhonen,” he offers to whomever is closest to him, to all of them if they’re so inclined, with a flicker of a sharp-edged smile. “And if the world is ending, I’ve got stuff I need to get done before it does. So maybe we can make this a quick adventure.” The boy laughs, inviting them to laugh with him, but somehow he thinks some of them won’t think he’s funny.