The hot springs. Like a magnet in the earth and metal filings in his blood, Roland was drawn helplessly, preternaturally towards them. Even from a distance one could spot the steam rising from the water, curling through the lush grass and dancing amidst rays of sunlight. It wasn’t all that different from the mist that descended from the mountains at dawn, seeping through the trees and pouring viscously over the foothills in a wave of cool condensation. But the vapor swirling across the water’s surface was hot and stifling, an overwhelming element in the face of what promised to be a sweltering summer’s day. Or, as sweltering as the Basin could get. The air still held its trademark northern chill, but Roland could feel himself beginning to sweat as the sun rose above the snowy peaks.

Rather than sinking into the hot waters, he merely stood on the edge and looked in, watching his reflection ripple over the boiling surface. It was far too warm to think of going for a swim, but there was no mistaking that he felt a sort of odd devotion to the springs. They had been the first thing to welcome him into the Basin, and had remained an affable companion through the harsh winters.

Much had changed since his first few days in the north. He’d gone from lowly Phantom to Thief in two years, and the reality of that had yet to fully sink in, if he was being honest with himself. Roland hadn’t even been expecting the offer when Illynx had posed it to him. Of course, he’d noticed that Faelene had been absent for some time, but he would not have thought himself a worthy replacement. There was no denying he was ambitious. He had run from one corner of the world to the next, it seemed, in pursuit of some great prospect or another, but even he had to wonder if he was cut out for the role of Thief. He’d helped with the odd thing or two as of late, but these days he didn’t seem to be good for much besides wandering the valley.

Unfortunately, the waters didn’t seem to be interested in imparting any words of encouragement upon him today.

For a moment, Roland was caught up in the nature of the hot springs; the heat of steam wafting around his limbs, the soothing murmur of the water as it boiled against the rocks. The morning sunlight washed across the curve of his back, setting aflame the ends of his copper mane. It was calming, almost enough to lull him to sleep. It very well might have, if an unfamiliar voice hadn’t drawn him from his reverie, shattering the silence with its teasing tones. Roland started, tearing his gaze sluggishly from the water, ears swiveling as he pinpointed the noise. His gaze settled upon a silver mare as she drew herself from the sparse trees decorating the stony hillside, her sterling coat caught in the early morning sun. The Thief leveled a calculating eye upon her, shifting his weight onto one side as she neared. If he found any amusement in her interruption, it did not show upon his face. “You might be,” he responded evenly, narrowing his gaze. She was certainly bold, taunting a mere stranger and catching him off guard. Roland’s lip twitched, but as she drew nearer he broke out into a good humored smile.

The mare advanced upon him before he had the chance to get another word out. He tensed, wondering for a wild moment if she was about to push him into the water, but she merely drew close enough to catch his gaze in their broken reflections rippling across the surface of the spring. Roland caught a startling glimpse of his own bemused face, and quickly schooled his expression into something less troubled. He turned a bewildered gaze upon the mare as she introduced herself, reaching out to bump his nose in a rather brazen greeting. Roland’s eyes widened slightly, his neck tensing as her muzzle knocked against his. He drew himself back a step, lengthening the distance between them. Tangere’s proximity wasn’t exactly bothersome, but he generally liked a certain amount of space in which to breathe. A medic. So she trained under Lena, then.

“Roland, Thief,” he volleyed back with a grin. Perhaps at one time he would have taken a greater interest in her appeal; sometimes he missed the freedom he’d once had- the recklessness, the abandon with which he’d approached each and every obstacle- but they were all virtues of his youth, and if he was to make any sort of interest clear to her, it would only be half hearted. He could admit to himself, however, that the attention was always appreciated; but his vanity was a feature that was unlikely to change any time soon. “I’m not interfering with your bathing plans, am I?” He asked, cocking his head at her. “Or was it soul searching you came to do?”

@[Tangere]

Roland had never found it difficult to get along with a stranger, unless that stranger was determined to be difficult to get along with. Tangere was no exception; as she approached his side and made her introductions, the Thief relaxed in her company and soon enough turned to lighthearted banter. There seemed to be no harm in it, since she had blown in like a storm with witty remarks of her own. Yet she replied hastily to his teasing, as if eager to deny his accusations. Was she opposed to bathing? Had he said something wrong? His musings were cut off by the sound of her laughter, dismissing his earlier concerns, and he followed Tangere’s gaze out over the bubbling water as she spoke.

“It’s my preferred haunt,” he agreed with a bob of his head, watching the sunlight dancing over the frothing water. The springs whispered as they boiled; a sound much like the ebb and flow of wind, but more melodic. There was no hint of the howling and whistling that came from the northern gales, just the gentle hiss of bubbles rising to the surface. Roland had ventured there in the hopes of some peace to gather his thoughts, but he was not averse to the idea of meeting new faces or making new friends.

His ears swiveled to catch Tangere’s questions as he watched the water, somewhat hypnotized by its churning, rhythmic patterns, yet his mind quickly wandered to seek the answer to her inquiry. It hadn’t been long since Illynx had wondered the same, and so he replied after a moment with a simple, “two years.” His affairs with the Basin had begun in the exact place they stood now, and every now and then Roland still felt a pang of embarrassment when recalling how foolish he had been, to trespass herd territory without so much as an invitation.

If he thought about it, it didn’t feel like he’d spent two years under the shadow of mountains and a watery, northern sun. Yet in retrospect, his old life seemed to have passed centuries ago. He certainly had no shortage of memories to look back on. His childhood was just a blur of learning, playing, and fighting with the other orphan children in his herd, and he couldn’t help but lament the fact that he no longer felt so carefree. Now the weight of a war had settled upon his shoulders, along with betrayal, and a million lies that had sunk their hooks into his skin and, like anchors, ever drag him down to his demise.

Roland tilted his head, eyes roving over the shattered image of the sky that had settled across the surface of the springs, looking down to meet his own blue eyed reflection staring back at him. It wore a distasteful grimace. He smoothed it away with a deep breath, turning back to Tangere. “How about you? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you around before.”

If only he could be as carefree as she was, Roland thought, finding amusement in the smallest of things. The infrastructures of a million ideas and memories still persisted in his mind, cluttering his thoughts with these oft used fictions and forgeries. They hung like a cloud over his head, at times like these. Deception required a great number of things; too many interlocking fables, spun threads and conjured stories, but to be honest and truthful required you to memorize nothing. One mistake, one misstep and he would give himself up entirely. Roland was not born Roland, and he had switched monikers and personas as he moved from place to place, careful to never leave a trail, covering his tracks. It was a difficult lifestyle, and yet there had been some comfort in the dissociation of the act, that every new existence he led was impermanent and without contract. Now in the Basin, everyone knew him as Roland, and they were all well aware of what he did best.

Tangere’s airy voice washed over him as she slid into the water, laughter following in her wake. The Thief watched with something akin to envy as the ripples trailed along the stormy gray of her sides, steam billowing across the surface. The hot springs had been Roland’s sanctuary ever since he’d joined the herd in their northern kingdom. How else was he to keep away the biting cold and brittle frost that froze the land over in the bitterest months of Frostfall? But now the sun beat down against his back, and even if he might have longed for the waters to swallow him up, he was content to remain ashore and bask beneath the golden rays.

The Medic did not linger in the springs, and so Roland did not have long to wait before she withdrew and returned to his side at the bank. He couldn’t help but smile as she shook herself, flinching as he was met with a shower of water droplets. “I would be happy to join you,” he responded, bowing out of the way and turning to glance over the sunlit crest of mountains, the barren trees that grew at their roots twisting in the breeze. A walk would be a welcome thing, on such a pleasant day. The Thief would like to stretch his legs, cease deliberation and distract from his apprehension. There was no need to worry about impending responsibilities and heightened expectations- he would take them all in stride as they came. One foot in front of the other. As with now, he thought, as he turned an expectant gaze upon the mare and gestured with a nod towards the burgeoning valley. “Lead the way,” he invited with a sweep of his tail.