He stood impassively by the Goddess as she responded to mutterings amidst the crowd. That she had reacted at all to his pledge of loyalty - for what it was worth - was curious enough, and he decided it was best not to push his luck by saying anything else. Listening with half an ear to the bickering and subsequent punishments he studied the crowd, gilded eyes drifting across a sea of faces, every once in a while pausing to note someone he knew.
Archibald's hated face stood out as he settled in beside a pale red-fringed unicorn lady he had crossed paths with several times, and what had to be a sister. They looked nothing alike but there was a familiarity about them that suggested a close bond. More curious was the darker mare's striking similarity to Paladin, an old friend he hadn't seen in much too long. Were they related, perhaps? What was the relation between them and that thuggish brute of a fiend?
Muttering to himself he moved on, pausing briefly to note the presence of Gaucho and the black-and-blue mare he'd had a row with in the Threshold once. What was her name again? Am... something or another. There were others there, faces he thought he might have seen during his stay in the Throat, but there were new ones too. So the lands of the Sun was thriving, as always; he craned his neck to see whether his son was among them, but couldn't see the familiar two-toned mane and sleek steal coat anywhere. Maybe not; Cathun was young after all, much too young to be dragged into battles. (So he thought, forgetting that he himself had already been battle hardened and old at the ripe age of two.)
He searched for other faces, family and loved ones, but the Qian was shining with their absence. Only the hated face of the Frosthearted one glared him in the eye and Lace quickly looked away, feeling the rage rise within at the mere sight of the idiot. No, much more pleasant was the sight of Sacre, standing not far from himself, side by side with a young stallion dyed in shadow and starlight. His force of presence was similar to the Moon, and by adding two and two together Lace dubbed him a demi-god, like Israfel and Hototo. How big he was! Had it really been so long since he watched the little bundle of sunshine be born into the world? Now Sacre stood there looking more the part of a man than a boy and is own son would soon be fit to join the ranks of a soldier - if that still was what he dreamed about.
It made him feel old.
Quite suddenly, or so it seemed to the daydreaming old man, another voice, dark and sinister and foreign, broke into the faded mumble of the crowd. Lace's attention snapped back to the Goddess and with a startled cry Fajira threw herself into the air, bright-eyed and alert as she circled and stared into the shades, in search of the speaker.
No sooner had it appeared however, big and black and foul smelling, than the battle broke out. With a readiness that surprised even himself the soldier threw himself into action. A bright, burning orb of compressed flame burst into life above him as he lunged in between the Moon and the attacking wolf, ready to protect her with his own mortal flesh. Why he did it was beyond him, surely she didn't need protection. It was instinct, he supposed, some chivalrous tendency that suggested a stallion ought to protect a mare. Any mare, even one as fickle and cruel as this.
He reared and aimed at the snarling, drooling head with hard hooves, trying to bash the foreign god's head in real good even as he braced for the pain of retaliation. Like he had done not too long ago, in another fight, he forced the miniature sun down towards the furry back, quietly whispering desperate apologies to anyone who might be in the way as he, quite suddenly, made the thing explode.
His powers weren't suited for close combat.
|
.svg/2000px-Google_Chrome_icon_(2011).svg.png){kind=icon}
