10-11-2017, 07:55 AM
 i'll use you as a makeshift gauge of how much to give and how much to take
The summer sky of Loess is clear and blue, flecked here and there with ribbons of clouds. Later, when the sun has begun to sink, there will likely be a thunderstorm, a torent of rain and thunder with lightning that will iolluminate the rolling hills of the kinggom. Ivar is watching those hills now, perched on a rock outcropping with excellent sightlines. He could patrol the rest of the border, he knows, but best to keep an eye on the side that requires the most caution. He will leave the rest of the border for the tohers to watch. Most days the piebald stallion waits in vain, but today – at last – there is movement. He is heading toward the no man’s land between Sylva and Loess, the place where a dark figure has just emerged from the woods. The terrain is familiar and the young stallion moves quickly, arriving only a few moments after the mare announces her arrival. The voice sounded almost familiar, and as Ivar crests a hill, he realizes why. It is Karaugh. He knows the buckskin dimplomat, and so the expression on his face is not so stormy as it might have been were the envoy someone else – well, two particular someones. Still, she has come from there, and she still even smells fo the red-eyed stallion, and so Ivar does not offer the diplomat anything that could be construed as a welcoming or friendly greeting. “What do you want?” He asks abruptly, rolling his head to toss the tangled forelock from his mane. The smoky black stallion is virility incarnate, but as he stands poised and already impatient, he is not particularly appealing. Handsome, undoubtedly, but handsome in the way that a killing sword is handsome – dark, dangerous, and very like his father. |