A new voice joins the conversation and the half-child turns to see who it is that has interrupted their converse. What he finds is a mare as black as the first mare is white, offering him promises of love and support. He’s not so sure he’ll find this support she speaks of when the time comes for him to face his mother, to tell her what he is doing, but she seems to be confident in her opinions and, interestingly, he finds that he doesn’t like her arrogant assurance. What makes her think that she is right? She knows nothing of him or what he is going through, where he has been or where he is going. But while he doesn’t like her first statement, he thinks her second one is much more interesting, and perhaps even more relevant considering his bond with the cervid. Perhaps you are my strength within, he thinks to the beast.

Sweetling. The sound draws him from his internal dialogue and he looks back to the Transcended. “Adelric,” he murmurs in response to her name, though he isn’t terribly interested in names. He will keep them, store them, if he can, but it matters not to him if he remembers them. He only needs a handful of names- Kiara, Zunden, Erebos, Krieger, Tobias.

But the angel speaks again and this time the half-child shifts uncomfortably, the questions becoming his to answer, the secrets becoming his to share. He is uncomfortable in this position. His worries are not worthy of such consideration. And, even if they were, does he really want to share them? He, who had dreamed of a whole and complete family, actually has a broken and shattered one. He, who had placed his father on a pedestal and dreamed of the great steed, has a monster for a dad. He, who has dedicated to learning the truth about the mysteries of life, is going to tell a lie to his mother. Are these things he wants, or is willing, to share? He doesn’t know and so for a while he stays pensively silent, gaze shifting to the ground.

“I have to hurt my mother in order to make myself happy,” he finally decides, in as cryptic a manner as he can manage. “And I don’t know if someone who was a monster once can be anything else.” With a sidelong glance at the strange waterfalls flowing over the side of the mountain, fed by water from an invisible source, the child adds, “I want to learn so much, but the secrets of the land are hidden so deep.” Yes, perhaps his troubles are mild, but the child is young and they weigh heavy on his growing shoulders.


@[Rayo]

Adelric

A storyteller makes up things to help other people;
a liar makes up things to help himself.