Tallsun found the little princeling well, limbs growing lankier, height gradually reaching towards the heavens, mane growing in every direction, leonine tail whipping through the undergrowth. On summer’s vestiges he rose and fell, tossing back his cranium and cascading through warm rivulets and ghostly exploits, scavenging for buried treasure and investigating ancient crimes. When his boldness increased, so did his wandering, and he bid into the darkened woods of the Threshold again, venturing down into the murky diatribes and the heathen declarations, coasting amidst damnation and innocence. He’d enjoyed his last encounters there, meeting with the General and Grim, imploring the latter to come into his home, to make the ice a part of him, to make the mountains shake under his dominion, to make the walls a permanent residence and the glaciers an amiable companion. Erebos did not go any easier than he had previously, ducking beneath wide eaves and heavy boughs, rummaging and prowling along the moss and groves, laughing as he coasted over a mere puddle or a stately brook, following scents until they were broken and lost, following the wind until it crashed into branches and leaves. Unsatisfied by the mysteries, by the enigmas, he hastened toward one more avenue, a glistening barb of infidel prowess and silly, juvenile adventures, rippling into the locked confines as a tiny pickpocket or miniature soldier, gallivanting headlong across two unfamiliar smells wafting and waning, giving chase while they stood resolute. His ebullience rolled and careened, he practically bounced into their section and sanction, rewarding his stalwart movements and motions with a welcoming, playful bow towards each lady, a hearty, triumphant bellow. “Hello!” His predator eyes, foolish and mischievous, seemingly filled to the brim with impish designs, granted quick, studious examinations to the two with feminine wiles: the first, an interesting concoction of hues and colors he imagined upon a bird, blending into her surroundings with sienna sonnets and darker tassels – but her antlers were even more impressive, and he stared at their profound mass with great intrigue (the widened gaze, the slight, dropped jaw), before twisting over to the other lady. And she had wings! Ah, those glorious feathers, all ivory and sparkling and luminescent (and the dreams of flying died inside him again, because he’d never trade his sword for their paltry plumes, but he’d admire them from afar). Suddenly aware he’d made no introductions, and his mother would admonish him for such a rude undertaking, he posed gallantly, straightened and puffed out his chest, proud and eager, ardent and knightly. To each, he chiseled queries and notions, dubbings and phrases. “I’m Erebos, from the Basin! Who are you?”

The world continued on in idle, pleasant chatter, and he attempted to reign his focus and attention upon the ongoing chivalry and affability, tipping his head towards each voice, listening intently, and only occasionally staring off into the shadows; where the great, rippling mysteries seemed truly bound. Names were given, curiosities extinguished towards those factions, and information stored away for another day – because the icy Pegasus, Elsa, was from the Hidden Falls, and he’d never been there before (even though Adelric had offered, but the spotted lad lived in his terrain now, so the invitation was probably rescinded). A naughty endeavor flickered through his mind, an impish decree of perhaps following Elsa after they had all parted and roamed off to their designated origins, for how covert, secretive, and furtive were these Falls? Nonetheless, he made none of these thoughts apparent along his features, still as dapper, still as intriguing, ruthless eyes narrowed in speculation and delight. Elsa had given forth an array of details and particulars, leaving the colt with pieces of his harem, or to fill in with other ruminations. Erebos continued with the pleasantries, there was no reason not to, both seemed polite (the newcomer smiled a lot; he wondered briefly if all the sugary exploits were real or just dipped and refined in honey for the moment) – extending his blackguard munitions back into the fray. “Nice to meet you, Tiva!” There, an acceptable crescendo and diction; his mother would be proud. His devilish grin elongated, jovial, exuberant, fostered and furnished with undulating, coiled energy. “Sometimes the Gods give you magic, or even companions!” Though he had yet to receive any, he’d certainly been witness to Adelric’s divine bestowals and gifts. Maybe one day he’d be able to proclaim and grasp his own. His heart restored, searing off into other branches and segues, curling along more gallant entreaties, because he’d been permitted to share the embodiment of his home, and pride singed and scorched upon every word. “I’d like to invite you to the Aurora Basin! Its surrounded by mountains and valleys – and even has caverns, hot springs, and a lake that never freezes!”

Questions were an expectation of the Threshold, or any empire really (for he always had at least one or two running around his cranium at given moments), so he tilted his head a fraction, eager to see and hear Tiva had enjoyed his assertions into the conversation, that she’d been intrigued and curious about the world before them. Before he had an opportunity to gloss over the subjects, Elsa managed on her own, and perhaps it was rightly so, she had far more experience than he. The winged mare called for another deep in the heart of the wood, and he watched in keen admiration, for the prince would not pout in front of others, as a beautiful, enchanting, alluring, and no doubt powerful, ivory bird flew along the branches, before perching on the femme’s cranium. The lad gave the smallest of sighs, gazing fondly at the aspects of a companion, recalling Adelric’s Tobias and its first wobbling steps, their wonderful bond, their token, unattainable nuances, and while he picked and carved and sculpted his way through marble monoliths and all-consuming turkeys, the lad had received naught for his efforts. Maybe, eventually, he’d be able to have one of his very own, and he nearly asked the Falls member how she’d acquired it (through task? Through strength? Through magic and enchantments and prowess?), but instead, he lowered his eyes and riveted them onto some roots, some trees, some bark fallen upon the wild grass. Determination steeled within him moments thereafter, and certainly not avaricious plumes, childish greed, or wanton petulance grinding in fractious, ferocious rasps, skewing his smile back into its impish qualities, struggling to add to the potent speech and demonstration, nearly unworthy of the attempt. “Sometimes you can find your own in tasks. I haven’t yet, but my friend has!” He’d certainly tried.

But then the conversation leaned towards the Gods, which he’d been witness to, though never chosen (a similar pattern; a child ensconced in the background, dreaming until they were firmly crushed). He’d been enamored and riveted, fascinated and beguiled, by their potency, by their dominance, by their supremacy; but as the diatribe turned, for Elsa speculated on all of the Gods and their abilities, Erebos realized he’d only seen two of them: the great god of the Sun and fire, blistering, scorching fire, and the mysterious Moon Goddess, quiet and menacing, twisted and malevolent. Though he’d never met the Basin’s patron, elemental deity, he knew of him, and the beast was bound to be just as pernicious as his brethren. “Our God of Spark also controls time!” What had his mother said? What had Zikar-Sin ever taught them? There had to be more things…how would the God yearn to be described and cultivated by his people? “He’s very powerful. He makes sure time flows as it should. And he can shock people with lightning!” Of course, what was intriguing and interesting to a colt could differ from what others perceived, but his loud, boisterous vocals hopefully got his notions across.

[Woohoo 100th post!]