 He waits, patient as ever, as his companion finds his feet. He keeps his bleary eyes trained on the shadows. His ears swivel to catch sounds in the underbrush. They are too far from the safety of the darkness. Still, despite gritty joints and shocked senses, Faulkor stands guard over his only friend. He can almost feel the sun prying at the seams of the night, ripping through the stitched up stars and toothy tree tops. His magic will have to wait. Balto finds his feet, and the pair stagger deeper into the forest. Their pace is painfully slow, but they both feel the urgency of the waning night. They need the darkness. They need the dank, hard stone. They are prisoners to the shadow. He does not know how long they traveled through thick trees before the ground suddenly sounds hollow beneath their hooves. Faulkor steps more deliberately to be sure, and muffled echoes confirm. Relief washes over him. This cave is none like the ones he and Balto knew, but perhaps this is a blessing. There is a world that calls for conquering here, and they have spent far too long hidden in the dark. They find the opening, a garish, toothy mouth that yearns to swallow them up, and they enter. Faulkor pauses, looking back into the faintest glow of morning. “I will have it.” he decides. Magic will be his. |
@[Balto]