Raymond guarded his freedom jealously, and though he was unaware of the isolationist theater unfolding to the east I can say with perfect confidence as the author that he would have taken his leave as well had he shared Cynix's position - only permanently, and with perhaps more extreme prejudice. He had yoked himself to someone else's lofty and far-reaching ideology once with disastrous results. From then on, the tantalizing allure of patriotism and ideological warfare became a tool to be exploited rather than a means of self-discovery.
He would never again throw himself upon a sword for a cause that was not his own.
Cynix spoke fondly of wandering and the red stallion allowed himself to smile. It was the nature of many a young horse to yearn for big skies and the open road - perhaps a vestige of horses' nomadic roots, perhaps a thread of indomitable curiosity bubbling in the hearts of those with potential for greatness.
"Ranging has its benefits, but it's a hard path to walk."
Raymond's pride had steadied his feet until the Journey became the last option left, but he too remembered staring out at distant horizons and aching to see what lay beyond them. Now, having no home of his own and being too old to ever fully accept one, he could not wholly decide whether to envy or scorn those that had grown up and grown old with such stability.
"Are you not satisfied living in Denocte?" he asked softly, puzzlement wrinkling his brow as he tilted his head toward the colt. There was no indictment in his voice, though perhaps a more insecure horse might choose to prickle unnecessarily at his word choice. But it was one thing to suffer the itch of wanderlust, especially as an eager colt with a long and storied life left to live, and entirely another to set out on a journey.
and at his feet they'll cast their golden crowns
when the man comes around
@Cynix
aut viam inveniam aut faciam
