.svg/2000px-Google_Chrome_icon_(2011).svg.png){kind=icon}
01-22-2016, 02:23 AM
![[Image: pagebreak-2.png]](https://lauraygustavo.files.wordpress.com/2014/06/pagebreak-2.png)
![[Image: 56a1b886415fd]](http://images.helovia.net/index.php/view/56a1b886415fd)
Demothi could not be still. A king will find no rest when he is not followed by fanfare. A king, no matter how temporary he is, has an unfathomable sense of pride. And to wound a king's pride is to drive him mad. So Demothi paced the shoreline, a madman himself, made so by the shortening of his breaths to be had and all that his brief time would deny him. Demothi did not fear death. Death was too dear of a companion to him. The shadow of a reaper melded itself into Demothi’s own shadow until it was only the stallion's shadow that was visible. And that was the closest the stallion could ever remember being to anyone so why should he complain?
Perhaps he could have made a close friend in Ashamin. The other stallion had been likable enough and he himself had seemed quick to accept Demothi. But it was neither friendship nor acceptance that Demothi sought out in Helovia; he hadn't the time for such trivial pursuits. He would not deny that having a friend at his side would be pleasant but he had no need for any who may slow him down. Demothi certainly did not have a care to give if he was accepted or not. He would be satisfied whether he was famous or infamous. As long as his name was carried on he would accept being a character that foals whispered about uneasily on eerie nights. He would rather be a hero but as a beggar he was fully aware that he had been robbed the luxury of being a choosy fellow.
Whenever the Basin had proven to be too well put together to provide a path to becoming a legend Demothi had left. Without a word or a trace of his existence left behind the stallion moved on. The Rift Gods, however, had intrigued him. He had thought that they may be his chance.
From the relatively safe shadows Demothi had watched the first corrupt god make its entrance and he had observed those who had rallied against it. Before the man would brush any closer with death, at least more than what was typical even for him, he would first be sure that the pay off would leave a legacy behind. He had taken time to observe and consider how things may play out and Demothi had, rightfully so, came to the conclusion that little would come of the names belonging to those who fought. Just as he had done to the herd that had once welcomed him the stallion had turned and casually strode from the battle grounds. Those there and the events that would occur meant nothing to him if they would bring him no progress.
At the time of night Demothi stood in most of the world slept. Those few who remained awake were probably starry eyed admiring the dark sky but he neither slept nor did he allow the blue of the day that lingered in his eyes to meet the dark that had overtaken the sky. Instead the stallion watched icily as the markings he had made upon the sand were wiped away by the waves. How eager the land was to erase the memory of such a sickeningly temporary touch.
