The question she asks makes me laugh, because it’s pretty much the opposite of what I’ve done most of my life. While I love the Basin, I love more the feeling of the road stretching by me, mile by mile, a characteristic that first budded here, in Helovia, and was nurtured by the successful venture to the Nightwalk; a full fledged wanderlust had bloomed at some point in the last few months, one that was healthy, and vibrant, an ingrained need to venture and discover that, if I was asked, would not wither for many, many years.

I am also young, and naïve; the world can teach many lessons, swiftly, and I have learned very few of its colder, ruthless truths. What I have learned is that a boy can walk bold into the wilds of Loorien at barely a year old and return a year later stronger, smarter, and more fearless than he had been before. I did not learn the opposing lesson, had never even really thought of it – that the same boy might have been lured, been maimed. That he might have been lost forever to shadow, his name a memory chiming in the hearts of those who had known him.

But the laughter dies as swiftly as it bloomed, her next words instilled with such a timorous sorrow that even I cannot miss it in my self absorbed thoughts of adventure and glory.

"I leave often," I answer with more humility than I might have before, "it is, after all, a part of my duties as a soldier, and how I came to be involved in the death of the Bear.

"I enjoy adventure, anyway."

And then all my thoughts of travelling further into the realm with her are stolen by the arrival of Erebos’ tall, dark father. Our meetings together had been few, the man often too busy with the tasks of leading (greeting, gathering, plotting, it was all very droll and tedious work that I had begrudgingly accompanied my mother to many times) to have time for a boy’s friend – but my lifelong companion had always spoken well of his sire, in all the ways my mother had not, and despite her warnings that he was incompetent, ruthless, without a thought to anything but his own gain (two of these sounded more like her, honestly), I saw only his strength, the regal dominance which ruled each step of his ebonite frame.

I admire him, in all honesty, for his long lived pledge to defend our home and his time and again proven ability to do so, that admiration displayed in a rarely given bow of my crown as he approaches, the excitement which lines my smile as he calls me by name.

Besides, my father spoke of him as a friend, and my father had never left me, just as the Reaper had never left his son.

"Yes, sir," I answer, though it is only partly true – I am, after all, heavily bruised along my left shoulder by the Bear God, and tired as hell from helping Ming Yue all the way here – but these are not his problems.

As is to be expected, he spends little time on me (I’ve mentioned being involved in this terribly droll business before, haven’t I?), and looks to Yue. I, too, turn my golden eyes to her as she answers, taking note of her weariness – and only managing this because I’d been walking with her for so long.

Quietly, dutifully, as any good boy (and well liked gentleman, of course) does, I make my way to her side so that she can again rest against my right shoulder – cautious not to step in her magical water as I turn about, wary of what sort of side effects it would have on me.



@Deimos