There had been a child in the streets, begging scraps from burgeoning merchant stands and getting little more than words in return. Words and the slap of leather or wood on her rump. She was hungry- for food, for adventure- her eyes gleaming as she’d slipped like shadows between the various vendors. But she had got nothing.
I see her every morning, earlier than the sun as I made my way to the wall. And every morning it is the same. I remember what it was like to hunger, to starve, to be scrawny and weak. My family had been poor as dirt before they traded me to the child King and I had been little more than a feeble beggar too. Now my body was a weapon, honed to the perfect standard and gleaming beneath the early sun’s rays. But there would be no such baptism, by fire or pain, for the street urchin. Nor would I want her to suffer as I have suffered, no matter how necessary it was.
I turn away from her little corner of shadows, feeling her gaze still burrowing into my neck as I wander further down the streets. Today my destination is not the city walls, towering above the surrounding land like beacons in the desert. No today the training ring beckons with claws of iron, ripping at the nightmares that still haunt my visions even as sleep had slowly released me.
Though there are a few soldiers out among the practice dummies and targets the I find myself a quiet section where the other soldiers cannot see me, cannot see what Viceroy’s training made of me.
The sun is barely high enough to crest the ocean behind the city and the air temperature is surprisingly mild- welcoming so. This far at the edge of the city I can make out the orchards leading out into the desert, the sweet smell of dates and tangerines culminating with the smell of spice from the market in the air.
To beat of my steady heart and the clash of metal on make-shift dummies, I begin me dance. The world melts away as I draw my spear, clutching it with invisible hands near the top and swiping it testily. And then I move, sweeping with the weapon, spinning on my hooves. Dodging, stabbing and dodging again. I pick up the pace, weaving around the hay-filled dummy, hacking and slicing and stabbing and reaching as though the spear were but an extension of my body.
The sun climbs steadily higher into the sky, framing the sandstone city and casting rays of gold out across the desert land beyond the court. I would guess an hour has passed and the solid ache of my body is a welcome familiarity. Sweat shines against my russet coat, I can feel it gripping the nape of my neck beneath the tufts of my mane. Yet my mouth is dry and my stomach growls silently, reminding me that I had no eaten since late the previous afternoon. Yet I cannot help but think of the little urchin filly, her stomach far emptier than mine. There is little I could offer beyond the odd bit of food, but it would not change her circumstances, it would only make her hungrier. I am little more than a soldier, a lowborn one at that. My own income is enough to sustain a living but little more. And I care not- I have no want for expensive worldly possessions. I need only sustenance, my weapon, a roof over my head and a purpose. Nevertheless the sweet smell of dates on the air calls to me and I shoulder my spear, turning in the direction of the nearest one.
The fields are empty, quiet, lines of trees stretching as far back as I can see. I would pick a few dates and then find out who the owner is later- pay him back when I get the chance. With my gaze fixed solidly on the dates above me, reaching with intangible tendrils of telekinesis, I do not notice the other man dressed in shades darker than I. Not until his voice loudly permeates the morning quiet. I am only slightly startled, twisting my head in his direction, the metal collar cool against my neck as I fix him with a stare.
Ignoring the confrontation in the other man’s voice I call back. “Are you the owner?” At least now I might not have to spend my evening tracking him down.
@Corradh <3
