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?”