OH, TO BE HERE ON THE GROUND
He is in amongst the bustle of the market, the newly enlivened Solterrans - though still mournful, many of them - packing together in the cold to talk of the new challenge. El Toro struts proudly through them, his mending scar a testament to the prowess (hush, now, truth) that he intends to show in battle. The white stallion will rage against this threat and bring fire back to this land, return the heat that nearly brought death itself upon him in serpentine form -
He knew that voice. Where did he - oh. Toro turns his head, searching, until he finally looks down and realizes - yes. Him. The pale antlered boy from the not-shrine.
Him.
”Ah, Anzhelo. Hello!” His eyes dart away, their last conversation slithering against his skin like millipedes. In another moment, he realizes what it is Anzhelo has said. ”Oh. Yeah. I’m sure you’re right. But a hunt is a hunt, isn’t it?”
@
"What I say,"
What I think,
