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Crafting? Downy chestnut ears, ablaze by the flickering light of the sacred flame, reached quickly for the words of the Diviner, another interest perhaps shared between the two; in reality though Hector still dithered between uncertainties. The stallion could not imagine wielding sand like Cera, like Midas, it was the ores bedded deep beneath their tread that drew his fascination- metal, fierce and strong,
unyielding; fit enough to face the brutality of battle. He listened broodingly, certain that the path he sought laid not in the direction so occupied by this, his painted brother. There was no interest in lore, of singing and teaching- unless that was how to brandish oneself before their foe. Tail twitched to the tick of his helpless mind, and the copper soldier hummed between each of Cera’s brief pauses.
"Aye..." He murmured at the suggestion that blood would run freely for the sake of their family; of those who slept now soundly while warrior-guardians watched on. There was no question about that.
The Diviner’s clever, frank and genuine advice sank quickly beneath Hector’s thick hide. Perhaps he was right. What reason did he have to set his goals so narrow-mindedly? The stallion’s chin dipped as he descended noticeably into the stew of his scrambled thoughts; bright eyes glazed over as they looked at length upon the blazing shrine before him.
"It is clearer..." he mumbled, voice distant and pensive.
"I thought always, that fighting, training; that the favour of my peers was most important." Hector blinked and a loose smile etched into the stoic expression he so often wore; emotion was not often accepted in the ranks of the army and it quickly became obvious that Hector had lost himself amid their limitless expectation.
He thought of Gaucho, brave and aloof; the epitome of military prowess, and Midas and Kri, who had (Hector believed) shed not one tear along the way to ultimate respect;
success.
"Family is what is most important," he continued softly, feeling a new form of control still more invigorating than any villain brought to task.
"As long as I am here, touched by the Sun, I will be happiest." Hector thought finally that it mattered little what role he played in Dragon’s Throat, and turned to Cera, to Ilaria.
"I am to return to the Veins, to His shrine. I want to listen without prejudice and accept any road set before me." The copper hybrid felt warmth stem from the decision, the certainty that he could be content with any role now, any work that required his attention- even if that was still in the army.
Suddenly he felt as though a great weight had been removed from his shoulders; like passion had reignited in his soul- and Hector
smiled. The mask of fierce indifference (of confusion) crumbled away.
"Thank you." He gestured forward with bristling whiskers, testing this new confidence,
freedom, on first Cera. Soft, tender breath seeped gratefully from motionless nostrils as they neared.
"There is one more thing," the soldier mentioned in time, when the friendly, brotherly exchange ceased and his horned face was pulled back into place.
"...I would like to take with me a gift. Have you any suggestion for one with so few skills as I?" Hector wanted to take with him something personal and powerful, a tribute to prove the completeness of his worship; to show his thankfulness and compliment the God of the Sun’s matchless radiance.
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