never take advice from someone who just admitted to being devious and just confessed to treason
Many sleepless nights had beleaguered the Thief on his way home, having left Caela Insula behind to travel the coastline in no particular hurry. He had grown far too used to sheltering in caves for the night, and without the comfort of stone above and around him, finding rest beneath the leafless trees had proved much more difficult than anticipated. Night had already fallen when he’d arrived in the Basin, heavy with fatigue, his throat aching from breathing in the frosted air.
The dawn after his arrival found him wandering the edge of the lake, casting an inattentive gaze across its surface as the cold breeze stirred the water. The vibrancy of Tallsun had faded many days ago, and in its place had settled the fiery hues of Orangemoon. Snow had already begun to fall across the mountains, layering the foothills in a sheet of white. Roland couldn’t help but think of last year’s winter, spent beneath the earth in a molding sanctuary that had echoed with the notion of captivity rather than solace. Even with the sun shining unimpeded in the sky above, its warmth was not strong enough to pierce the early morning chill.
Preparations for the festival were well underway it seemed, and the liveliness that followed on the eve of festivities seemed oddly out of place in the Basin. He had known most of its denizens to be as cold and impassive as the stones around them, but he was pleased to see that the majority of them had embraced an opportunity for celebration. Nonetheless he kept his distance, even if he felt guilty for evading any responsibilities that might have been placed upon him. It was much more relaxing to watch from afar, rather than finding himself in the centre of attention.
More importantly however, the Thief was certain that he was in desperate need of more sleep when he spotted another golden figure in the distance, that was surely some odd reflection in the water, and not another creature standing at its edge. But the stallion did not mirror his actions; instead he lowered his head to drink, revealing two horns that stretched behind his ears and settled against the curve of his neck. They were similar in appearance, but not identical. There was a familiar look about the stallion, not only in his appearance- they certainly hadn’t been introduced, but there was no doubting Roland had seen him at the last herd meeting- but in his stance. He held himself the way one does when he anticipates, and perhaps dreads, the cold, braced against the icy winds that track along their spines. Roland could relate.
A soft smile curled his lips as he approached, drawing up alongside the stallion in an attempt to catch his eye. “I don’t think we’ve met before,” he said in lieu of an introduction, as incongruous as it might have been. “I’m Roland.” The Thief bowed his head in greeting, slanting a discretely calculating gaze upon the stallion before him as he spoke. The stag did not particularly hold the look of a soldier, nor did he necessarily carry the forgiving look of a healer. Perhaps they shared more in common than Roland had first realized, though if that was the case, he would keep his guard up. If the Thief knew anything about thieves, it was that they were not to be trusted.
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