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Each step brought with it an old and familiar sort of ache; the jarring impact of every hoof against the ground, rattling his angry sinews... this was always the feeling after a battle. Irelyn had perched herself on his head, neglecting to move down his neck to his broader back on the off chance she might catch a sore spot with her claws. Torleik had insisted his companion be healed first and healed well, and the owl-griffin's wing seemed to be coming along nicely after their trip to Lena. That gave the Bloodskald reason to feel...less tense, he supposed. Relaxed was not the proper term. A call rang out and the rabicano stallion was awash with irritation. Of course there was a necessary meeting right now. Of course. He did not pick up his pace, refusing to move faster than was absolutely required of him. Upon arrival, he said nothing and stood off to the side, eyes fixed firmly on Illynx and Deimos. Normally he might have cared if Ulrik showed, or if that little traitorous whelp Deodat was here, but not now. Not when he was still so weary. The Lady of the Basin wished for him to follow after the meeting? Curious, Torleik wondered, and remained affixed to his spot on the ground, waiting. What could she want of him now? "speech goes in here" |
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No man is an island.
Pixel by: Tamme :D
Pixel by: Tamme :D
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