| Aurora Basin Phantom atk: 7.5 | def: 10 | dam: 2.5 |
| Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16 hh :: 8 yrs HP: 60.0 | Buff: NOVICE |
| Glo |
There had been a time when ambition had been Roland’s driving force. It had drawn him to war as a mere boy; had lead him in search of his father- an absurd and foolish endeavor. But now, he had swayed into the step of a different march. It had taken him a while to recognize it. There were the relentless winters and the ruthless winds, the mountains rising like a prison on every side. Yet after some time his aggravation had calmed, and ever so slowly he had come to realize that he was content. Any position satisfied him, any duty was fulfilling. He no longer felt the passing of time- and the heavy weight of expectation- as a pressure upon his shoulders.
He was not very important, no more than any other cog in a functioning piece of machinery. A laugh bubbled forth from Roland’s lips, some mix of amusement and exhaustion. “I’m nothing special,” he promised the boy with a shake of his head; but he preferred it that way. To labor beneath notice was a necessity in his line of work. Even if at one time he had thought that to stand above all others was the most powerful place one could be, he had come to understand it was not always the case.
His gaze fell upon Caneo as the boy spoke, a somber remark that no doubt came from experience. “It is,” he agreed sagely. Roland never liked to get his hooves dirty. He’d had his taste of bloodlust, of warfare and discord and the unfavorable thing that was conflict, an ever shifting tide. He had quickly withdrawn from it, and since then his courage had waned. He was content- enthusiastic, even- to fight for his family; but in a different way, brandishing words as weapons, the dance between duplicity and diplomacy.
A brief look of panic flashed through Caneo’s eyes as Lena and her companion approached, the boy seemingly caught up in indecision as he withdrew from their advance. Roland disliked, with a great amount of vehemence, the look of distress upon his pale face. He ached with sympathy and curiousity, for he would have loved nothing more than to know what hardships the boy had endured, what turbulence he had withstood, and what had driven him into their lands. Caneo’s gaze darted towards the Thief, questioning, before turning back to the pair before them. Roland took a wary step closer, casting him a reassuring look as he went. If there was anyone in the Basin whom the stallion could trust above all others- including Roland himself- it would be Lena. Yet he could see hard lines of uneasiness etched into the boy’s stance, settling in the shadows dipping over his skin, the inky contours between every bone, and the stark, curving lines of ribs protruding from his silver sides.
Lena was no less attentive than he; as the boy edged away and leveled an icy gaze upon Imogen, she quieted, slowed, doused her exuberance to placate the young stallion. Roland smoothed the look of concern from his own face and turned a welcoming smile upon the approaching mare. He was happy that she was there to welcome him home. Of all the crowned beasts that might have found them at the shoreline, she was the most gentle, and the least intimidating.
Blinking away weariness, the Thief remained silent as they shared their introductions, Caneo addressing her with the slightest tremble to his voice while Lena was patient, soothing. He took to amusing himself with Imogen as she turned away from the boy and assaulted his heels instead. Shifting from foot to foot, he smiled down at the white vixen as their conversation turned to her. Roland glanced up to meet Lena’s gaze and the hidden laughter in her eyes, evidently finding amusement in some private joke, perhaps even at his own expanse. He flashed her a hidden, unrepentant smirk, tail curling around his hocks. “You have nothing to fear from Imogen,” he said softly, turning to Caneo. “Besides her playfulness.”
Push your luck if it makes you a promise
that turns con men honest.
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Image Credit
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