never take advice from someone who just admitted to being devious and just confessed to treason
As a drifter who had never known a true home, Roland had done endless amounts of travelling. There were few things he had not come across at some point since the time he had left Anorien, but never once had he stood upon a beach, or felt damp sand beneath his hooves. He hadn’t left the northern reaches of Helovia since the last Tallsun, besides the mission with Arah to the Foothills, and he had wanted one last glimpse of the outside world before he gave himself up to the winter, sheltering in the Basin amongst the pillars of ice and towering drifts of snow.
And only once he had made it to the Endless Blue, following nothing but the curious scent of salt and brine, had he realized that he had never seen the sea in such a way, stretching from one horizon to the next. He was all too familiar with the sight of dark waves rocking against the jagged cliffs, and the resulting spray against his face, but he had never seen the water rolling gently up the beach, rising to meet his hooves before receding once again. There was a certain rhythm to the tide, as if the ocean was breathing.
The wind tugged at Roland’s hair as he walked, testing out the strange feeling of his hooves sinking into the pliable sand. Even though the world was now well into the throes of Frostfall, the sun still shone down from the gray sky and warmed the beach. Roland felt its heat upon his back like the comfort of an old friend, just a distant memory after all his time spent in the shadow of the Basin’s mountains.
He expected to be alone in his early morning wander, enjoying the breeze as it rippled over the clear water and stirred the sand around his feet, so it came as quite a surprise to the Impersonator when he glimpsed other shapes in the distance, milling about against the mottled horizon. He was not generally one to seek out the company of strangers, especially in unfamiliar territory, but he felt a sudden curiousity as he grew closer and abruptly recognized two of them; Arah being unmistakable with her smoothly sloping antlers and stark white pelt, and Illynx, whom he had spoken briefly with one night in Orangemoon. He had never laid eyes upon the third in their party, a creature that appeared to be a mix of wolf and horse with a dragon draped across his shoulders, but the Impersonator's course was decidedly set for them.
As he approached, listening to their voices as they rang out across the sloping beach, he realized that perhaps this wasn’t the cheerful meeting he had perceived it to be. Roland’s features darkened in apprehension as he made his presence known, walking up to Arah’s side with wary steps. “Good morning,” he intoned, and one wouldn’t be able to tell that he was guarded by the cheerful tenor in his voice. He spared a sincere smile for the pale mare at his side, shaking his forelock from his eyes. “Is there a problem, Illynx?” Whether Roland was racist or not had never been divulged to anyone but himself, and he planned to keep it that way as long as he called the Basin home. Discretely, he would not ridicule those who were not of his species, but he wished no more to be ridiculed by those he considered family.
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[O] she found herself chasing ghosts; [Arah]
