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Since coming down from the mountains, Jericho had stuck close to the citadel. Though his days were mostly spent exploring, he made a point to slip beneath the shadow of the walls by sundown. It was important that he meet the citizens and learn the customs of this new place, he knew—though adventures were well and good, he had not forgotten his earnest promise to Somnus to help the court in any way he could. And so more and more often, he began to frequent the fortress, waiting for a way to make himself useful.
It was an itch he could not seem to scratch, this desire to be of service, even in some small way. The courtyard in which he lingered had not proved especially busy, and those who passed through came and went without so much as a backwards glance. To be fair, it was no one’s fault. Unbeknownst to him, most remained at the summit, preoccupied with herd politics or with gods he knew nothing of. Still, he wanted to help, and so Jericho took to roaming the citadel, looking for another with a task to do or time to spare.
It was in this way that he eventually made his way through the gates, stepping through the cool shadow of the walls and into the sunlight. Having found no one to occupy his time within, the young stallion decided to stroll along the fortress’ perimeter in search of any repairs that may need to be made to the walls. Perhaps it was a menial task, but it had to be done. He had been trained as a soldier after all, and he could not so easily abandon the many lectures on defensive strategy.
However, he had not gotten far in his inspection before he came across a small colt, lounging in the midday sun and toying with a stick. The sight took him by surprise, and he could not help but smile and turn from the wall. Once upon a time, he too had played with sticks—first with his brother Zion, then with his sisters in succession. His heart twisted thinking of the trio of younger siblings that he’d left behind. Sarai had left home not long after him, and next year Sapphira would follow. He’d never gotten much of a chance to play with Tigris. She was only a little older than this boy, Jericho estimated. Just days old when he’d set off on the bridequest, his youngest sister remained a mystery to him. He could only imagine what she might be like now, how strong she must have grown. If they were back home, she’d probably be playing with the very boy before him.
“Hello, mighty warrior,” he called, bowing lightheartedly to the boy. “Where did you get such a fine blade?” The wall could wait for the moment.
"speech"
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