He imagined the fringe, the borders, of the World’s Edge as Faeanne described its pathways and passages; a forest shrouded in fog, long, glorious, illustrious meadows as far as the eye could see, then the sudden drop off, the lingering treachery sinking in the fathoms of mist, and he realized perhaps all the kingdoms had their pitfalls, their threatening boughs to alleviate others from treading into their ramparts. The Basin had its cold, its mountainous boundaries, its constant, archaic walls, shielding and prosperous from one side, disastrous from another, coated in ice and protection – the Edge with its unyielding, relentless cliff side, unwinding shoals and jagged rocks piercing through the watery void. Erebos nearly pictured the other lands, though not having journeyed to them yet, through name and song, stitched together fabrications of their deceits and fortifications, perhaps the Throat had its overbearing heat, lying in the southern regions, boiling and blistering, and maybe the Falls had its drowning pools, pulling in the foolish and unbidden. Eventually he would have to see the entire world for himself, crusade and sojourn along these hazards and snags, overcome the paralyzing snares the world offered and bestowed; but for now, he grinned, content for the kingdom he lived within and all the boundaries he’d seen until the present. A little, prosperous idea sparked in his head, curled in eager fondness through the surf and sand. “The World’s Edge sounds so cool! Do they allow visitors? I’d like to see it sometime.” The notion of playing in the mist and midst, digging into labyrinths, becoming lost in ancient tombs and temples (not to mention the scars and wounds of prior battlefields), appeared effervescent and wonderful, and he very nearly became consumed with the notion, had Faeanne not uttered her own query about the Basin.

It was a question he’d oddly never asked himself, and he stood amongst the gulls and the waves, pondering over the nuance, furrowing his brows in wild speculation. Perhaps the lake stayed warm like the hot springs, boiling and bubbling plumes in the dead of night, heating up tired, aching bones and muscles; but for all the times he’d pressed his muzzle and drank its depths, it’d always been a chilling swallow. Was it because the Time God made it so, knowing his citizens would need ample drinking water when the freezing temperatures turned and chiseled the world into a glacier wonderland? Then, of course, he figured upon another notion, chuckled and laughed into the salty air as their conversation came full circle. He furnished one feral, impish wink, and clamored through the untamed vestiges. “Maybe it’s magic!”


@[Faeanne]