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Warm golden firelight danced across his face, reassuring, soothing. It threatened to sweep away masking shadows, to reveal the troubled look of doubt and concern; anxieties he’d been holding fiercely at bay for the years since his youth. It wasn’t necessarily that he feared his past. Hector had grown considerably more resilient since the days of mental torture and disregard after all, but he
was confused by the path he needed to follow. The stalwart warrior had never ventured into the depths of his heart, his mind and his memories before, and he teetered precariously along the edge of reason, wishing not to tumble into the web of emotions and bitterness below. He needed a voice that was steady, nurturing perhaps, and patient; someone that would pull him back if he were to start flailing. Mostly he needed a friend to confide in, because a soldier’s weakness was his disgrace.
He lived a mostly solitary life, always had. Maybe that’s why he stood before Cera now at a loss; his strength was a disadvantage.
Hector could only imagine the bank of stories bound up behind those strong emerald eyes. He had no reason to doubt the youth’s ability, no motivation to defy the understanding of their Lord. He believed heartily that wisdom must flow through the painted stallion’s veins; that perhaps the God of the Sun had bestowed still a greater gift of intelligence- far,
far beyond his own simple, mortal rationale. It was because of this trust that Hector followed Cera’s motion without question, stepping closer to the dancing flames; slipping beneath their embrace, finding comfort in their soft cackle. Wings shook loosely by each flank, and the nervous tension aching through each arm seemed to fade a little.
The other spoke, though Hector’s quiet gaze was comfortable where it sat upon the glorious, beautiful shrine. He nodded vaguely, a strange weightlessness drowning out the clutter in his mind. All of a sudden he wondered why he hadn’t come sooner.
Conflicted...?
The word stood out from the gentle lull of Cera’s voice like a bitter desert night after the baking heat of day. He
was lost; confused, burdened and down.
"Yes, please, he answered slowly, and the Diviner began to explain about
his cores; happiness and family... Hector wondered about the abandonment mentioned, curious, because he too had in a sense been rejected by blood-relations, by the first family he had known. A murmur brushed by his lips as he thought privately, of Kri and Midas; of those who had taken him in and built new strength and resilience into his character. Were Cera and he that different really? He remembered the days of old when the young caramel patched colt had marched with army ranks, sparred and learned from the best; from his father.
Family. Hector cared terribly for the welfare of his friends and family. There was nothing he wouldn’t do for them.
The movement of the Diviner’s glowing face pulled the soldier from thought, and a thoughtful smile found his lips when he turned his own eyes from the fire. He listened carefully with cupped bronze ears turned to hear, and nodded as the words reduced to question the direction of his life.
"I would defend our Throat until my bones fractured; until age robbed me of sight and deafness my hearing." The soldier spoke with such conviction that his face flushed hot- his want to serve, to uphold all of the kindness done to him, was as potent as his will to survive. He drew a long breath then, and shoulders slumped heavily as his neck stiffened across them; bemused eyes fell back to the flames.
"Yes..." he answered, his voice choked with resignation.
"I guess my path is changing, but the guilt I feel is crippling. This body was built for war." Though not always was it accepted for such. He was a soldier; it was his
identity. Hector knew nothing else. He spoke generously, honestly; the hybrid knew that he could not find the answer to His question if he recoiled from the gentle coaxing of Cera now.
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