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»› C A S S I U S ‹«
As benign as he had been, Cassius forces himself towards the Threshold. Reminds himself, that there is perhaps no better way of securing the Basin than offering ties to weary strangers. With the hopes of cultivating loyalty for a home, wiling to house and feed, nurture their souls into the threads that entwine them together.
Although, a sense of fear and foreboding usher his steps closer into Helovia’s opening. The God of the Spark, his massive voice as it splits into the air warns of the consequences of being idle only some days ago. And still it rings and courses into life, when Cassius finally regards the uneven borders of the Threshold.
He hesitates. Recalling how assassins often trailed the feet of slaves on the escape. Dragging them back to their masters. Killing, the easier, more merciful option often swayed for tortuous methods set on display. Would they still be searching for him, now? After nearly a whole year marks his arrival into Helovia?
There will always be an uncertainty, a ghost, and a dark premonition that exists between the forests. With several easy, tempered breaths he finally breaches. With ears that search the creaking canopies for their daggers, and the swift footfalls of an assailant. Cassius weaves then, to and fro from the patches of forest to open meadows – deftly, efficiently as he scans the lands to avoid pausing in one place for too long. His face, guarded, resolute, frowning as thought and instinct war in the forefront of his skull.
When he spots the strange stallion, he is still a ways away. Pausing mid step and smoothing his strides, slow, cautious of the figure that he nearly misses from the corner of his eyes. Perhaps he is the first to greet this figure, large, and ambling with a purposeful stride. One that brings itself closer, revealing dusty hues that glimmer in stray light, a heavy sheen that follows the ebbs and curves of the rather large male.
Despite the drum of his heart, and the forceful nature of each breath, Cassius turns his body to meet the ambling stallion. There are no knives strapped to his limbs, nor cloak to hide his daggers - just the simple bubbling of green foam that escapes their mouth.
The gray offers a light-hearted whinny the closer he moves. Picking up his feet to roll forward and stop beside one of the trees. “Greetings,” his voice chimes, airy in the thick heat. And dips his crowned head cordially to welcome the stranger, regardless of morals or conscientious. The bow is so practiced and ready, that Cassius hardly thinks twice about it. Regarding the other with a nearly nervous half-grin.
“I’m Cassius. Ah-,” ’disciple’; but the neutral term no longer applies to him. And he laughs briefly at himself for the fumble. “I am the Aurora Basin Haurspex. A herd that lies to the north of these lands… What brings you into the land of Helovia?” Sometimes there weren’t always reasons, but it seems polite to ask. As the stallion waited – unaccustomed to the traditions of the Threshold, his tail swaying and twitching behind him.
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