The sun burned overhead, seething and gold within the belly of the wide blue sky. The coming fall did little to temper the sweltering heat, but most around here didn’t seem to mind. Those who lived within Solterra found comfort beneath the heat. This land wasn’t for the weak or weary, or the gentle at heart. And that’s the way it should always be.
“Hm.”
The Coyote Prince stood firm within the sand, seafoam eyes peering through his permanent mask upon the carcasses. Buzzards had not yet fallen upon the dead fighters, and a warm desert breeze ruffled fur and feathers alike. Within the sand lay a coyote, deep gashes dug within it’s pelt, the mortal wound inflicted across its extended neck. The profound bleeding had long since dried beneath the beating light of day. One eye had been gouged out, and its teeth still carried the blood of the golden eagle that lay entwined with the canid. Some feathers danced away, having been pulled from the bird during its death throes, and one wing remained twisted in a brutal unnatural angle. The bird’s neck was broken as well, still captured between the jaws of the dog. It was romantic to Killian, like a pair of lovers, bound to one another as the reaper claimed them both at once. But which of the pair had won? Sure, the coyote had managed to capture the raptor and break its neck, but the bird’s great talons in its last attempts to break free had made it bleed out into the sand, so even in death it had been victorious.
The golden boy mulled the sight over, wondering what a glorious fight it must have been. Though the life of a warrior would never suit him, is still managed to intrigue him. Certainly many proud soldiers would desire to die upon the battlefield to a deserving adversary, yet Killian could never imagine ruining his body in such a grotesque and macabre way.
Perhaps what was important wasn’t who won, for in the end, it was the desert’s sands that would consume the pair. The the heat would quicken the decomposition process, the vultures would pick the carcasses clean, the sun would bleach the bones to a pristine ivory white, and finally the wind would bury their bodies, cover them in golden sands, and no one would ever know how beautiful they had been as their lives were stolen by the other.
Pensive, he tipped his head, continuing to stare at the pair. The sound of another approaching finally pulled his attention away, and as he lifted his crowned head, he cast a charming smile. “Lo, stranger, I have a question to propose.” Gesturing with his head for the stranger to come closer, again he looked down. “Do you think it’s possible to determine the victor? Or do you think in the end, perhaps it is the desert who always wins, or is the fight skewed as the reaper always swings his scythe and collects what is his in the end?”
It was not a day that he would have chosen to been out amongst the sands, the sun too high in the sky without a cloud in sight. Only fools stood around in the midst of a desert for very long, whether you were born of the desert or not. Even the snakes and scorpions knew when to seek the shelter of shade, simple creatures as they were. The metal smith stood atop one of the dunes, sending up a vain prayer for rain -- the wings perched just behind his ears flapping gently in order to keep him cooler under the sun’s beating rays. It was a glimmering, golden death trap for any unwary traveler -- beautiful to the eye and unforgiving as any raging sea or storm.
His stride was purposeful and smooth across the sands, seeking that shelter that he dreamed of -- headed back towards the sand-worn walls of the Day Court and his work as a metalsmith. He had quite the list of things that needed to be finished so that he could see about making the deliveries tomorrow, which was what today had been full of. His crude methods resulted in crude but fairly sturdy tools, and he was sure with more work and blessings from the gods that he would see improvement. It did not seem to stunt his business, though, and as just one man in the business -- he had to do much of everything himself. Not only the actual grueling work, but any deliveries that had to be made or house calls for adjustments on things like the shoes he sometimes made.
The stallion was the color of storm-clouds, splashed with striking white that was muddled with sweat and laborious effort. He had never been vain about his appearance, though his adoptive mother had always admired it. Lovely enough to be a woman! She had exclaimed on more than one occasion as he had grown. His father’s bassy reply had been more of a growl. Not my boy! A fine warrior he will make He thought fondly of how wrong they both had been, laughing aloud to himself as he trekked upon the desert’s shifting sands.
A stranger appeared just ahead, his shape blurry like the mirage until Simo drew closer still -- and it became increasingly more apparent that the stranger was just as real as he was. The smooth glide of his gait slowed, wary but not afraid as he drew closer to the interestingly colored stallion, his eyes of sky blue peering out with friendly interest until they fell upon the dead. His ears twisted and fell back against his skull, the delicate wings behind them tucking back as well. Death had never set well with Simo -- he detested the destruction of life, and the two were locked in an entanglement the promised a slow death, specifically for the canine.
He could not help the slow curl of his lip, averting his eyes from the gruesome scene. Simo was far too gentle to lead the life of a warrior, and this was just one example of why. He could imagine that he would have leapt in to stop such a fight, if only to avoid this untimely end of both creatures. He snorted, kicking sand in the direction of the dead as if to help the desert along with the inevitable burial.
”There are no victors here, but death.” He said simply, his lips twisted into a disgruntled grimace. ”An unnecessary and brutal ending for both of them, may Solis bask them in his light. He murmured the prayer rite reverently, earnestly praying for peace for the two souls. It was unlikely, given the grisly death -- but perhaps Solis would welcome them to his ranks as they had died in the god’s favored pastime…battle
As the other soul approached, Killian drank in the sight with an intrigued gaze. Beautiful that one was, colored like the stormy sky above an angry sea, crowned with feathers and a delicate face, with curves to match, and a— oh. The stallion cleared his throat as he realized the carefully sculpted beauty was a he, and diverted his gaze back to the pair of predators that lay dead at his hooves. The other stallion seemed perturbed by the sight as he came to rest by the corpses, and Killian hoped with all of his might that the other man wouldn’t lose his lunch over the whole thing. But his words resounded within, and the golden found himself nodding in agreement. “Yes, I suppose you’re right. Yet, death comes for us all, and in the end, it is the only thing that can truly conquer all.”
For a moment, Killian watched, interested in the brief prayer shared over the dead. He had never been a particularly religious being, nor did he believe anything followed this life. He had decided previously that when his lights finally flicked out, all that would remain after the ages would be a pile of bones, hopefully adorned with precious jewels and brilliant gold. A raised brow was originally the only response as the other stallion began an attempt at burying the creatures, but then he used his own forehoof to gently push some sand in an attempt to assist with the burial. It wasn’t long until a looming shadow circled above the pair of the living and the pair of the deceased, calling his gaze skywards, and a smile threatened to pull at his lips. “Though, wouldn’t you say that even in death, life always finds a way? Even the scavengers deserve to eat.” He watched the vulture move in a lazy circle, until soon another joined it.
“Should you still wish to bury the two, I will help. But the desert claims that which is its, and life moves forward as it must. Isn’t that Solis’ ultimate will?” The birds above would certainly find a meal elsewhere; they were adept at surviving as they could. Besides, even if they were to bury the two, the coyotes later would unearth them and claim them as their own. If the other man was as sentimental as he seemed, perhaps it would do him good to find comfort and closure in burying them. So, he gave another half-hearted kick, tossing more golden granules upon the pair.
The man smelled oddly metallic, and Killian was curious about that. He had never seen the man before, but he moved so certainly within the desert that it seemed possible he was as familiar with it as Killian. Dipping his head, he moved on with his words. “My name is Killian,” he began, nearly hesitant at sharing his name; usually he shared a fake moniker with those he was unfamiliar with. Yet, he couldn’t imagine lying in this situation would benefit him at all. Usually he shared his nickname with women, or those he was planning on swindling. However, the other man seemed as though he was nice enough (as if that had ever stopped him), but he wore no treasure easily seen. “I am a mere commoner here in Solterra. You seem well enough to not be a weary wanderer lost within the desert. Who are you?”
The stallion held his ground upon the golden expanse of sand, his eyes averted from the utter tragedy before him. He had no heart for death, but it was an unavoidable...inevitable thing. The breeze from Simo’s wings brushed the tangle of ivory and black silk across his face, as he continued to use them to fan himself from the oppressive heat bearing down on them. He let his sky-colored gaze wander to the male next to him, appraising his appearance with an appreciative eye. He had no designs on the man, by any means, but he could appreciate another beautiful creature. ”Aye, that it does. The most victorious warrior in creation is death. He always gets his due.” He agreed, his voice dropped to a murmuring rumble.
His eyes turned to the sky at the arrival of the feathered death-eaters, their shadows brushing over them like a passing cloud. He hardly wanted to stick around to watch the carrion feast. The storm-colored male dropped his head, bringing his gaze back around to the masked stallion -- before turning away. ”Like you said, the desert will reclaim it. I won’t deny the vultures a chance to eat their fill. Some good may come of it at least.” He said, though he had no intention of lingering on to watch the show. He began to pick his way down the dune, leaving the stallion to follow him.
An audit swiveled in the other stallion’s direction, as Simo moved with the grace that came with living upon these dunes all of his life.
”Ah, Killian, you say?” He said, throwing the remark over his shoulder at the stallion -- who was a mosaic of gold, sin and ivory. Somehow he wondered if those colors indicated anything about his personality. ”Aye, I was found in these dunes as a child.” He conceded, nodding mostly to himself. Now that he knew that this male was of Solterra, he would be a little more careful about what he shared. Simo’s peculiar ways were enough to draw him attention in Solterra, he hardly wanted anyone to know the truth he kept hidden deep down about his true feelings.
”My name is Zosimos, but friends call me Simo.” He replied, the tone quite cheerful. He was in the presence of a herd-mate, which should have given him some peace. Solterra was at odds with nearly every court, what with that Sovereign of theirs mucking about. He always kept steered quite clear of politics if he could help it, even when it put him at odds. Simo had many friends from many walks of life, and yet he would not abandon Solterra. It would be as it always had been -- someone else would come to take the mantel away from the painted brute and things would change again. Always shifting, like the sands on the dunes.
”I’m the metalsmith, though I suppose that makes me a commoner in rank.” He offered, the information safe enough to share. ”My father owned it, but I’ve recently taken it over. I’m just coming back from a delivery.” He snorted, though the sand was not on the winds so bad today. ”Tell me, Killian -- what do you do?” Simo turned his pale blue gaze back to the masked stallion, raising a brow. ”We may be commoners, but we all have talents...right?” He offered him a smile, his ears tucking back and his wings fluffing out. He looked for all the world like a child, and many still considered him one -- despite his age.
Killian remained silent as the other man shared his final remarks over the deceased, and again turned his head towards the sky. A smile was sent to the vultures, for they had signaled him, on more occasion than one, of a fallen wanderer still draped in valuables and silk. It was his payment, allowing the buzzards to consume the kills. By the time he dropped his head down again, the other man had already begun moving.
The coyote prince trotted forward until he was beside the other, and then matched his pace. He nodded at the appropriate increments, and when the man noted that he had been found here, he decided to share one of his more realistic origin lies to match. “I was born by the Oasis, and found by wanderers. We are nearly brothers, simply born to the desert by happenstance.” A playful wink lightened his features, “though my adoptive parents kept myself and my siblings moving. Eventually I returned to Solterra, where I finally came to rest.” Believable enough, and not that far from the truth. “It’s good to meet you, Zosimo. Perhaps we may become friends, Simo is easier to remember.”
Changing times usually didn’t effect the stallion. He was certainly able and willing to adapt, and he usually remained beneath the radar of anyone important. That was, until they made the mistake of stepping down and moving on. In that case, Killian was usually upon their heels, looking to collect a toll for their safe passage out of Solterra. ’What other option do you have,’ he would say, ’You have already left. No one would know you were missing. No one would care if the coyotes chewed the meat off of your bones.’
“A metalsmith, you say,” Killian mused aloud, nodding appreciatively. “That is certainly a valuable trade. Especially in a place like this, where everyone and their mother seems to be a soldier, I’m sure it’s a lucrative business.” He would have to remember that. He was in the market for a new blade, after all. His last one had become compromised, lodged in something solid. To any who asked, however, he was unsure of how he had lost it. “I’ve had many ambitions, but unfortunately none have come into fruition.” He shook his head in feigned disappointment. talk“I have very few applicable skills. Sometimes I help local citizens collect payment, deliver goods, carry messages, just casual harmless things.” He shrugged, casually dismissing any negative connotations that may spring to mind based on his wording, yet also planting any seeds should the storm-painted stallion decide he needed any assistance in the future. “It pays the bills. Though, I do find some enjoyment in the libraries. I try to learn what I can, with the hopes that some day I can make a name for myself.”
His humility in what he shared made the story believable, at least he hoped. “How far do your deliveries take you? The other courts must be beautiful. Don’t get me wrong, I belong in the desert. Solterra will always be my home, and the most beautiful one at that, but still I wonder what it must be like to live in more temperate and hospitable climates.” Though the questions were innocent enough, they were also critical to creating a mental note of the man, should they ever meet again. Besides, Killian had wondered, before, if there were better places out there. Eventually the time may come to need to move on again. Perhaps this would provide a good idea on where to point his compass.
He turned an eye to the stallion as he mentioned his own background, a foundling just like himself. It seemed that a desert made a good place to dump the unwanted. It was essentially a death sentence, but without having to handle the grisly deed on one’s own. He often wondered about his true parents, if they had both agreed to leave him behind or even what had spurred them to that choice. Was his mother with his father still? Were they still abandoning their mistakes in the sand? Did he have siblings? What did they look like? His ears pinned back at the thought -- and he shooed the thoughts away from his mind with a flap of his wings. The breeze ruffled him behind the ears, sending locks of ivory and ebony twisting up into the desert wind. He was grateful when the conversation moved away from the past into things that were easier to think about -- like the present.
”Aye.” He murmured, though his gaze was ahead and keeping track of his ultimate destination -- home. ”It’s one of those businesses that it doesn’t hurt to be in.” He agreed, but he wanted to add just how much he hated creating weapons. He much preferred to make beautiful things, and while weapons could be beautiful in their own right he hated what they ultimately were used for. His beautiful things being used to kill and destroy. His mood was soured with all the talk of things that he hated about his life. His abandonment in the sands, his precious creations used for murder...all things he tried to stray from.
He flicked an ear in the direction of Killian, glancing as he forced another smile. ”Aye, but if you are able to do all of those things then you must have a fine memory. It’s not easy to remember all these lands -- let alone the different people within them. Perhaps that’s your talent.” He felt a flicker of uncertainty as Killian mentioned the libraries. The only place with libraries was Dawn Court, that much he did know. Solterra had a paltry space for some tomes -- but he’d have hardly called it a library. It was the first sliver of suspicion that he had that this stranger might not have been all he seemed.
Wary, Simo kept going -- determined to see himself home. ”My deliveries have taken me to many places. I doubt there is an inch of this world I haven’t passed through at some time or another. When my father was the smith, I was the errand boy. Now I play both roles -- which I enjoy.” He said lightly. He had no qualms about his traveling. It had yet to interfere with his work -- and he intended to keep it that way.
”You should take some time to seek out the other courts. There are a few that I would not mind living in, save for the connections I have here. Solterra saved me thus I will never leave it.”
