Яikyn

It’s a game of a swords, which is more to my liking than an actual contest of physical strength because it means I’m less likely to come home riddled in bruises and marks (and thus incite momma’s disdain and anger) – and even though my horn is shorter and less developed than my opponents, I’m eager to see how my lessons fair against someone who may actually be trying rather than letting me have at it as momma did and who was also older than my sister and Erebos, proving more of a challenge.

With each swing of the boy’s horn I return a parry, the sound of our meeting soon lifting through the clearing in which we’ve found play with one another, and soon my partner’s voice rings out over the sound of our sword song. Its curious how he huffs already though our run was brief and the fight is less winding than some mock battles I’ve had with Erebos, but I dismiss it as most children do things they don’t understand and would feel awkward asking about.

Either way, he’s asked good questions about things that I’m rather proud of – myself, and my home. A smile traces against the thoughtful structure of my face as the combat commences, and between strikes I give him his answers. "Rikyn, of the Aurora Basin," my young voice chimes, "who are you?"

Taking a deep inhalation of his smell, the scent of wilderness and no where in particular. Kahlua had smelled like forests and the sea, and when we had gone by the Falls, there had been the smell of fresh water - and lots of it. This kid smelled straight up like the no man's lands, that blend of hundreds of bodies and wilderness and earth, and even at my young age it doesn't take long for me to wonder if he is one of the vagabonds mother talks about.

She'd said if I ever found one, I should make them my friend - at least if they were horned. I think its a good circumstance that he is such a thing and seems marginally safe to accompany myself with, not a secret I have to hide from mother. She's warned me not to play with the hornless, as she calls them, but I don't really see the sense in such blind dislike. Aithniel was a great person, and she had wings, and Kahlua the painted equine mare had let me play with her scorpion.

They couldn't all be as bad as momma said, could they?

in every heart a hole