august
—« that boy went stone-cold crazy »
H
e hasn’t come to the prairie since…well, since before a lot of things. Since his whole life flipped, since Aghavni left, since he left too. None of them ever came home. And even though that wasn’t outside the grand plan, it still smarted like a healing burn. But Sideralis has always been a peaceful place. He prefers it this way, with no festival, no maze - only the grasses, greening in the spring sunlight, swaying pleasantly with the wind. Overhead swallows dart, dark v’s across a true-blue sky, and the air is full of birdsong and the drone of insects.
August had come here to be alone - to run, to roll, to doze away the afternoon under the warm hand of the sun. At first when he catches sight of another, he intends to turn away - but then his interest is caught by the tattered bandage bound around his eyes. A closer look reveals the crescent moon marking, in the same place where the palomino’s scarab brand sat. That strange night in the temple of Caligo felt like a long time ago - a lifetime. But here both men stood, in a place almost its exact opposite.
When he wandered over he made no attempt to quiet his steps, and he was not at all shy about the way he measured the other stallion from ear-tip to tail.
In truth, he didn’t look so good. But August could hardly judge him for that.
The moon-marked man turns toward him, and August falls still a few lengths shy. He isn’t surprised that he asks a question - but he doesn’t expect that one in particular. August might have laughed, except there was something almost sad, almost pained, in the words. Instead he shakes his head and answers, looking around at the colors dotting the wide sweep of prairie, “Not here. There’s some lupine, some lilies, some daisies.” He turns back, measuring the man again, wondering what lie beneath the dirty bandage. “You’re the monk, aren’t you? What’d they do, forbid you to look at the sun?”
