this small boy with his hungry mouth, burning,
for a scrap of armor, blazing for a shard of love
for a scrap of armor, blazing for a shard of love
“You are still here because change is still coming for you.”
He wonders if this is the change that the fortune-teller had warned him of, if this might be the reason that he is still alive -- because he is needed here, his trembling courage and his shaking voice, and it is time for him to step up toward the future rather than remaining chained to his past. He is tired of being trapped by his own doubts, of being a cog in a machine instead of experiencing life for himself.
When their shoulders brush, he lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, and his smile only grows more confident with each step through Denocte that they take.
This is a nation of star-watchers, of dreamers and romantics, a kingdom of storytellers and magicians; and all of them are ready to march to war for their queen, to put down their quills and their instruments and to take up cloak and daggers, to clothe themselves in armor and swords. It is a grotesquely beautiful thing, this loyalty of theirs, their love for their home, and he doesn’t think he’s ever seen a bond this strong between country and people.
“I was born in a forest far from here,” and he thinks, for the first time in a long time, of playing by the small lake with his brothers, of chasing fireflies beneath the glow of the moon, of the feeble illusions he had once created. “My entire herd had antlers like mine -- there were gemstone deposits everywhere that leached into the grass and the water, and our bodies would make the gems out of them. There were stories told of a herd of unicorns that had the same ability to metabolize metals, but I’ve never met any of them.”
His smile is fond, even when he knows how his story ends.
“I haven’t been there since I was a small child.”
@
you were only a boy,
when you were thrown into a war.
when you were thrown into a war.
