Essetia & Romul

But we threw it in the flames and now we're never gonna trace it

Romul had grown all too accustomed to the worrisome nature of prey animals and had long since enjoyed leaving Essetia behind to ‘man the gate’ when it came to recruiting, but his presence was still often required as proof of the bond the two shared. Besides, he was not one to wander far when the mare was faced with the questionable company of foreigners. The wolf himself hated change and frequently expressed such woes since arriving back in Helovia at Essetia’s bidding. They had been raised in the Edge and had suffered through the invasion of the Falls only to wind up living in the south where even the sands grew tired of the blasted sun. Visiting the Threshold mid-winter was something of a reprieve for the young wolfling and it was a time when he could embrace not only his species, but also the thick, white coat native to his breed. However, his frolicsome romping soon came to an end when the softest of whispers compelled him to return to his ward and sister, more than likely to put a swift end to any fear her newfound friend might harbor for him. Scared? he questioned of the painted garron.

Hold your tongue, was all that was proffered in reply.

Duty-bound, the servant answered his master with no desire to make haste. His golden eyes were the first to be seen, as they contrasted against the pale white robe of winter, and then the faintest glint of two, perfect rows of sharp teeth. He offered the stallion a wolfish smile and came lazily to perch at Essetia’s shoulder. “It appears I have,” she commented soon after, a softer smile turning away the slight purse of her lips. She studied the way the stranger spoke and, were it a texture, admired the roughness of his tongue. He appeared so nervous in her presence or perhaps unaccustomed to her brazenness, but surely none of that mattered so much as how he’d ended up at the borders of Helovia. Somehow, the mare saw in her guest a likeness to herself after spending so many months in the wilds beyond the vast landscape of her god-governed realm. She too had arrived again very much uncertain of the life just beyond the thick of trees that guarded the trio from reality. Somehow she pitied the man his woes and nodded slightly at his request for her company. “Maybe it would be best if you walked with me,” she amended with a knowing stare. “I find that my knowledge of these woods is superior to your own… unless I’m mistaken?” the mare questioned easily and without assumption.

The Sleuth was a clever girl and never too careful with anyone but Romul. However, a spy could be outsmarted if one tried hard enough and it was up to Essetia to determine whether or not the stallion she humored was truly friend or foe. Instead of waiting for her cohort to agree to her terms, the mare began a small trek through the winding path of the Threshold, all the while pushing through a thick layer of freshly fallen snow. She’d allowed a wide berth to her left so that the stallion might have room enough to walk alongside her, an equal. Romul on the other hand had been forced to bound about through the icy thicket at her right -cursing the mare internally for her supposed ignorance- before favoring a different route altogether. “I’m Essetia by the way and that, my friend,-” she motioned toward the general direction of her wolf with a slight tossing of her head, “-is Romul.”

Her gait was slow and even as she waded through the ankle-deep snow, but she turned to face the painted man anyways simply because her knowledge of the path was enough to walk it blindly. “Since I seem to have forgotten my manners, I guess it would be proper for me to formally welcome you to Helovia… Is there something you seek here?” Essetia asked with a curious eye fixed on the garron at all times. She was a creature too unabashed by her own confidence, but knew also that she hadn’t always been that way. Perhaps it was well enough that she sensed a certain strength in the patchwork wanderer; it was good that she’d found him when she did.