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05-29-2013, 02:14 PM
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LYNX It has been too long. He has waited, and searched, but Leander seems to be gone, as is the mare who joined them in their exile. His daughters have also vanished, scattered, although he knows that a few may still be sheltered in the Throat, safe in the care of the herd. Still, far more time has passed then he is comfortable with, and that is why he lurks here, on this expanse of soil and hard clay. Here, he is close enough to keep an eye on the desert, but far enough that he is not a threat. Close enough that maybe he will see one of his adopted children again. For, without war, without battle, without a general, what other purpose does he have? Once, he might have haunted the Threshold, seeking out weary wanderers and adventurous travelers and leading them to a potential home, bringing them to the welcoming sands of the Throat. Once, he would have patrolled the borders, keeping his family safe. Once, he had direction, knew what to do, and gladly did what he could to help. Now, he is an outcast and has nothing. Sometimes, he thinks about returning, toys with the idea of once more filling his life with duty and expectations. He knows it can't happen, he turned away from the Sultana long ago to follow another, and he doubts that she has forgotten or will forgive. There are other herds, of course, that he could seek acceptance into, but he has founds flaws in all, flaws that keep him from travelling to those havens in hopes of finding solace. The Basin is too cold, the winter clime would freeze the flesh around his pierced cheek, tightening it into agony. The Foothills are far too unstable lately, cycling through leaders at an incredible pace, and besides, he has no wish to become a mercenary. He would rather fight for a cause he believes in, not hire himself out. And Edge, well, they and the Throat are firm allies, making it unlikely they would welcome him. And the world keeps turning, and time passes him by, and he does nothing.  |
