Essetia & Romul

But we threw it in the flames and now we're never gonna trace it

It was certainly strange how many times Essetia had seen the very meadow before her and yet found new and enchanting things to admire each time she visited. The seasons were like a veil that draped themselves over the plains and provided a new palette of color and life… In fact, the seasons were all that painted the vibrant canvas that was Helovia, and they were all that parted the intangible realm between the mortals and the Gods.

With her gaze pressed into the snowy expanse of the barren pasture, the Sleuth nickered casually toward the wood at her back like an expectant mother. Its timbre was almost hindered by its own depth, but it had grown into a familiar appeal when recognized by ears that heard her thoughts, but were not her own. She knew that it would bring the young wolf to heel and once she’d received an almost internal response, Essetia settled again into conversation. “So it would seem,” she answered loosely while glancing back into the trees again. One creature without the other was vexing for either party and it was utterly apparent when at first Romul did not come to join the Sleuth and her painted company. “It’s peculiar really… to feel emotions that are not always your own,” Essetia admitted cautiously, “-but somehow comforting in the sense that you’re never truly alone.”

Loneliness appeared to be a constant theme in the novel of Essetia’s life, but it was also something that had taught her to survive and that was enough, she presumed, to have faith in. As if those thoughts moved her to action, the Sleuth lumbered forward into the meadow while listening not only for Romul just behind, but Masanori as well. It was risky for her to lead him so far from the Threshold, lest he decline her offer to join them to the Dragon’s Throat, but again her confidence was shining, a bauble dipped in gold were it a treasure crafted by a talented mason. Her victory over Bucephalus had been short-lived and somehow unsatisfying, but it was victory nonetheless… and it made her impregnably arrogant.

However, her attention was quickly swayed by her invitee and the badger-faced mare turned once to study him as he spoke. Essetia enjoyed the way he observed things and, even more, the fluid way in which he expressed himself. Masanori was intelligent, that much was certain, and the new Sleuth had use for such intelligence… “You’d be surprised to learn that many fight for the wrong things, at least in my opinion,” she began haughtily, all the while remembering the invasion of the Falls. “But you don’t strike me as the type.” Essetia turned, a slight grin curving her lips as she spoke, and sighed.

Ulrik had tricked her, she could see that now, and then abandoned her just like the rest of them. It had been foolish of her to think that she could trust him or his ties to the Basin… It had been foolish of her indeed. Yet, thoughts of the Engineer were so far behind her now… even if they still lingered from time to time.

Memories of her capture though… they were all that kept her strong.

For a short time, both mare and stallion grew still from thought and perhaps a bit of admiration. The Thistle Meadow was a wondrous place, so large and inviting as it was, but it worried the Sleuth to no end that the Throat would entail a different reaction from Masanori. It was a place made up of the desert and its heat… It was a place always rumored to house the best of warriors, even if Essetia had yet to meet them herself. Was it in her best interest to warn the stallion of her secrets or was it best to keep them hidden not unlike her past?

“There’s a first time for everything, yes?” Essetia questioned of the wanderer and his preference for solitude. However, there was something else just behind his tongue –was it release? Trust?- and when at last Masanori agreed to accompany her home, Essetia moved forth with more purpose than before. Romul had appeared at some time or another to trail the pair, but the Sleuth paid him no mind… Instead, she chuckled to herself while picking her way through the drifts of immaculate snow. “Good.”