you shouldn't have to pay for your love
with your bones and your flesh
with your bones and your flesh
He had not expected to be back in Denocte so soon, except for the fact that shortly after he had arrived in Solterra, Raum and his entourage had left -- for Denocte, the whispers on the streets had informed him, although it seemed no one knew exactly where the Ghost was going. Perhaps to visit the phoenix-girl who led in Isra’s wake (and his heart had clenched with worry for the pegasus who had trusted him with this task) or perhaps simply to slip amongst the stalls of the Night market and plot some sort of sabotage?
(Oh, how he wished that were not the case, and yet--)
When he returns, Denocte is on fire.
He slips between alleys with his hooves ringing on the cobblestones, flashing golden beneath the moonlight, and everywhere he goes he sees panic and hears the cries of the people -- except for a figure that catches his attention down a desolate alley, meandering as though the Court has not gone up in flames --
And his instinct tells him that the golden man is up to no good, perhaps even related to the fires.
“Sir!” He cries, and as he bounds closer he catches the scent of Solterran sand and sun-warmed steel beneath the scent of smoke, and can only hope that the same scent clings to his own skin enough to play the role he has chosen. “By Solis, it is not safe here! We need to leave -- the fires are spreading!”
@Toulouse
you were only a boy,
when you were thrown into a war.
when you were thrown into a war.
