DIGGER, LISTENER, RUNNER
PRINCE WITH THE SWIFT WARNING,
BE CUNNING AND FULL OF TRICK
AND YOUR PEOPLE SHALL NEVER BE DESTROYED
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PRINCE WITH THE SWIFT WARNING,
BE CUNNING AND FULL OF TRICK
AND YOUR PEOPLE SHALL NEVER BE DESTROYED
He follows her in a quiet that is not quite—there is always a quip that could be exchanged; a challenge that could be issued. The excitement too, that makes his too-fast heart beat even faster, tests the limits of his patience. He takes a few long trot steps here and there, feeling the slide of sand beneath his hooves, tucking his chin to his chest where the skull bump-bumps.. It is all can to do discharge some of the energy that has built up in his fine, sinewy body.
After some time, the formlessness of Mors begins to take some shape.
First, the watery, paper-thin form of some oasis or another—glittering like a blue gemstone set in a golden crown. He shifts his jaw, feeling the thickness of his dry tongue. Mirages, each, as they fade from sight the moment he thinks they may be close enough to be believed—
Then, in the distance, the sand begins to build. Rising from the dunes and plains like an old soldier, the walls are pitted and weathered, but they stand all the same. Turrets, too, reach for the sky—battered and bruised, rippling in the heat. He squirts, his mouth set in a thin line that says he will not be fooled again. But, towards it, they go on, and when those walls do not crumble, when they do not fall like water to join the sand below, he begins to think this might be the more she had been referring too. “Day Court?” he asks, rhetorical, for it must be.
It is not grand, this bastion in the wastes, but it is impressive. It has withstood so much, and to some undiscerning eye it might seem weakened for this. He thinks otherwise—it has only hardened under the abuse it has endured.
As they approach the defensive wall he falls back, much more reserved, bending completely to her lead (hard as it is). Sitting flat in the wind, he can see a banner bearing the image of a figure more Sun than anything. He opens his mouth to inquire when suddenly the first, fat flake of snow lands square in a red-pink eye. He winks, his long ears pulling back, “What the bloody–”
It is only the first…
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