In the steely light before the break of dawn a procession wind down a narrow street. League upon league of paved road is filled with figures cloaked in black and red, equids walking side by side with merfolk - they say the city was theirs, once, before the sea retreated and left the black rocks exposed to sun and wind. Long ago, yet the fey from the deep lakes and mist-veiled marshes are said to live by their own time, unbound by the passing of days that gray and bend every horse.
Maybe they have come to take back what was theirs? Perhaps the time had finally come when peace would shatter, after centuries of tranquil existence. Spectators gather quietly in windows and doors, shifting uneasily as they murmur amongst themselves.
But no, others say, they come for a different reason. To seal the demon, or so they heard, before it bring about the end of days.
As one the people turn their heads to the east and the rising sun and gaze up towards the sanctuary that loom high above, a temple of black stone carved from the very rock. The air is still, the day has not yet begun - they strain their ears and think they hear a faint, distant scream reverberate from the basilica. A child's voice and weak, yet so riddled with pain and rage that they shudder in terror. Quickly they hurry back inside, wishing they never stopped to listen.
They hide. They pray. They hope, against all hope, that the price of salvation won't be too steep.
* * *
The world was vast and full of wonder. It never ceased to amaze him how high the sky arced, how tall the trees or how green the grasses were. Even on a day when clouds had blotted out the sun and curtains of cold rain soaked through the thin summer coat Cathun felt the thrill of being alive. So what if he got wet? So what if he'd end up shivering and miserable once he stopped moving? Life was glorious, and he was fiercely determined to live every single moment of it to the fullest.
The boy laughed as he raced the thin, chilly wind across the meadow, a daredevil's glow burning in his eyes as he seared the ground with his blazing speed. He lost track of time a long while ago, no longer knew which direction he had come from or where he ought to turn to travel back south, towards the red desert where the sun ruled. Frankly, he didn't care. He was free from training or patrol duties, free to go where he wanted and do whatever he pleased. It was too bad that Amaris wasn't there with him, but they couldn't possibly be together every waking hour of the day. She had duties too, and friends of her own (at least he assumed she did, being a girl and all) and sometimes he just had to cut all ties and
run.
Could there be a greater pleasure than this? He was young, he was strong, he felt as though he could outrun time itself if he pushed himself a little bit harder, ran just a little faster. The meadow continued endlessly in all direction. It invited him onwards, ever on with its shifting green and lavender hues, not half as soft as it appeared what with the flowers being thistles rather than actual lavender.
But it didn't matter that the thorny plats whipped his legs full of tiny cuts and stinging pricks, nor was he restrained by the river that grew larger up ahead as he ran through the rain. As the banks appeared before him Cathun simply intended to turn and continue running alongside the sloping banks, exploiting the perfect track of packed earth and down-trodden grasses.
He hadn't expected the bank to be destroyed by a multitude of thirsty animals, worn down into nothing but dirt that now had turned into slippery mud. Too late he realized the danger; instead of turning him around the feet slipped on the slick ground and disappeared beneath him, bringing him down with such force that the air was knocked out of his lungs. With a half-choked yelp the grullo was sent skidding towards the steep bank, horror overwhelming him as he realized he couldn't stop.
He was headed straight for the edge and a ten feet drop, down into swift, rock-strewn waters.
@[Nymeria]
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[O] Det räcker med en gnista, ett bloss
