The four were strangely silent as they left Solterra in the night, the moon hidden in the naked sky and stardust not daring to shine in the darkness. Clouds blotted out what little stardust might have lit their way, leaving an eerie sort of blackness that fell over the land. Each walked in a single file line, not daring to speak, not daring to make a sound. Even Rufio had left his chains at home (mind you, not because Targwyn had suggested it, but because it just made sense). Thinking of the bitterly rude mare, he sniffed a bit in disdain, but pressed forward, saying nothing.
It was easy enough to find the caravan, blending seamlessly among the throng of others and going unnoticed in their presence. Without the gold which made him remarkable, Rufio was simply a dark creature in the dusk – perhaps a bit peculiar with the red of his mane and the zebra stripes along his legs, but otherwise as anonymous as they came (particularly when he kept his mouth shut). They mindlessly followed the group as they neared the borders of Denocte, and as Abel motioned them forward, the four peeled off into a small and hidden alcove in the woods.
Here, they would make their entrance to Denocte, a place which was foreign to the boy, and yet strangely comforting and different from the desert. Even if they failed, he was happy to be away from the golden sands and the blistering heat. Mountain air cleared his mind, and he breathed it deep, relishing in the peace for the briefest of moments as his heart beat so loudly in his chest, he knew the others must hear it. If there is fear and nerves within the boy though, he does his best to mask them, biting the inside of his cheek until the sanguine taste of blood meets his tongue, to keep from idly chatting or giving away their position.
They wait for the changing of the guard, and just as Abel had predicted, the shift change came with the passing of the hour. As backs were turned, the bay gave the signal. Rufio simply nodded and pressed onward – alone, as they had planned.
The path that he’d been assigned was clear to the dark prince, as he picked his way through the quiet wilds of Denocte, unnoticed and ignored. It was strange, he puzzled, that the residents weren’t on high alert. After all, if rumors were true, the king of Solterra had stolen their queen away – murdered one of their citizens. While he personally didn’t find Raum to be some sort of boogieman, he knew better than the question the pale regent with the basilisk. Only a fool would miss the hint of danger under Raum’s haughty exterior. Though he hadn’t quite come around to being a loyal subject, Rufio had a begrudging respect for the male. A respect that drove him to follow the raven, and to do the pale king’s bidding on this fateful night.
His mind reels over all that had happened, even as he finds his way to the stores. Ahead of him, they stand unguarded like a beacon in the night. Strange, he puzzled, that the Denoctians slept while their nightmares were coming to fruition. But Rufio couldn’t bother himself with such things for now. Keeping the task at mind, he fished in a well-worn bag to gather his flint. Saying a quiet prayer for his safety, the boy struck the stones, flicking glowing sparks onto the stores of dried grasses, and watching with a quiet satisfaction as the pile roared up in flames.
His was the first to burn, the glow hot and bright against the night. And as smoke begins to billow into the dark sky, Rufio makes his exit, slipping unnoticed into the shadows as he makes his way back toward the canyon, unknowing if the rest would be successful in their efforts as the fire rages on in his wake.
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