| Aurora Basin Phantom atk: 7.5 | def: 10 | dam: 2.5 |
| Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16 hh :: 8 yrs HP: 60.0 | Buff: NOVICE |
| Glo |
Question after question had leapt from the boy’s lips since Roland had first stumbled upon him, and Caneo’s curiousity did not cease even once they had arrived in the Basin. Though any other might have found it a hindrance to be at the receiving end of so much interest, the Thief knew the boy would do well to be suspicious of everything he saw. The act of checking over your shoulder was a good habit to get into, especially in a place like the Basin. Roland did not, however, expect the question that the silver stallion posed to him.
He had never felt a gaping hole that a companion might fill, nor any absence of friendship. He might have kept himself purposefully distanced from others, but if he felt alone it was not that difficult to revel in society. All his life, he had never considered it. Roland did not fight; not in the traditional sense. While a companion could offer a soldier its aid in battle, or a healer its ability to bolster the spirit, all it could offer a thief was inconvenience. He would have to watch out for it as well as himself, and in most situations it would be a distraction he could not afford. His ears flickered in discomfort as his gaze drifted down to Imogen. Perhaps he was just not built for the commitment. Indeed, commitment in general was a burden he tended to shy away from unless, rather like his loyalty to the Basin, it sank its claws into his skin before he could see it coming.
Painfully aware of his silence, Roland tried to retrieve a memory from the recesses of his mind, maneuvering his way through a labyrinth of thoughts, perceptions, and recollections. Of both his parents, Roland remembered his father the clearest. He’d been three when he’d seen Ion last, fresh from war and drunk on the notion of invincibility that ran through the veins of so many youths. Despite how fitting a hellhound might have seemed at his side, his father had always worked alone. His mother, on the other hand, was nothing but a blur in his mind, a bitter figment of his imagination. How could he remember a face he had only looked upon for mere, bleary eyed moments? No, he recalled with more certainty the matrons who had reared him. They had been kind and doting, yet overbearing, and their memory had forever left a sour taste in his mouth. Roland frowned, drawing himself from his thoughts and tilting his head to fix his blue gaze upon Caneo. In his reminiscing, he had forgotten completely what answer he had been searching for.
“I don’t think a companion would be well suited to my line of work,” he supplied eventually, fondly regarding Imogen and the sheen of pale moonlight rippling across her fur. Perhaps one day, if he ever managed to stumble across a creature that could benefit him, and shift its nature as he was often required to do, then he would change his mind on the matter. Roland raised his head, studying the dark, tired lines of Caneo’s face, the fatigue dragging the weight of his form towards the ground. “We can talk later. You should rest now; it’s been a long night,” he murmured to the boy. There was no need to wear himself out further when he clearly had been through trying times. The night was drawing forth, the moon climbing above them upon its staircase of constellations, and he did not want to see Caneo collapse from exhaustion as time ticked on.
Push your luck if it makes you a promise
that turns con men honest.
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Image Credit
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