There is something reassuring about Tembovu’s company that even Achaius feels, immutable as he may appear in his pretence and formal obfuscations, hiding himself in layers of well-trained manners. It’s not just the size of the man, or the deep, rumbling voice with its even keel. There is something else – probably it is the way that Tembovu speaks about himself, without airs or hesitations, and the way he speaks about the World’s Edge (although indirectly). The character of his conversation puts Achaius at ease in some way about the realm. The bay stallion trusts his instincts about people, and relies on his first impressions to be correct ones. Tembovu, despite his superficial frustrations, seems happy here – and Achaius infers from that several interesting things. There is enough physically engaging work (which, in this world, is generally battle) to keep a man of Tembovu’s obvious physical prowess interested. But there is enough calm that he occupies himself with projects of his own volition.
The great glass dragon captures Achaius’ attention and he pauses as Tembovu walks to study the snarling, cracked glass face. It is sizeable. He has noted some small cousins in the area as he walked through Helovia – presumably someone’s companions. This ancient glass monument fit with the glass wall they had left behind and rekindled the sense of deeply rooted history in this place. He was brought back to the present by Tembovu’s next words, drifting toward him. He turned away from the statue and walked on, not hurrying forward but again lengthening his stride so that he would catch up again in a few moments.
“More of a glib follow-up than a real concern, Tembovu. You certainly do not look like someone who is being punished. Do you see much of her, these days, this Moon Goddess?” He adds; his interest and his apprehension piqued by the casual reference. He was finding the horned, elephantine male excellent company.
As they approach the cliff edge the horizon opens up, the bright cerulean of the sky meeting the pale pastel colours of dawn sunlight on the water in an abrupt line in the distance. The heavy, lulling sound of surf comes distantly from the cliff base to his ears and he feels the jarring weight of it in his frame, not quite in synch with the beat of his own heart. Welcome to the World’s Edge. Indeed, it was easy to understand that concept here. Sheer rock beneath them fell away at a dizzying distance to the white crashing waves below. Achaius’ reactions are often a fraction too late – as they are constructed for the setting through the censor of his mind – but he felt that his own, genuine awe at nature was not too revealing, and quite appropriate for now. He said nothing but he was quite enthralled by the site. His gaze leapt ahead of him with the sharp, salty breeze into the distance. His thoughts skipped off ahead into the sea and his feet pressing forward just a few small paces toward the edge, as though he were pulled there by the tide below them. He did not look down at his feet but he did stop before his foot hit open air, resting a handsbreadth or so from the end of the earth.
.svg/2000px-Google_Chrome_icon_(2011).svg.png){kind=icon}
