—ira—
Ira goes to the market to clear out the remainder of his skins and wares. He does so methodically, with an aura of ritual. He had tanned several hides that were not ready until now; and he takes the leather, folded neatly, to the vendor he has always gone to. The man congratulates him on his new position, and Ira smiles—he goes so far as to demand to pay extra for the tanned skins and leather, to which Ira refuses. He begins to leave the market feeling nostalgic, and if—well, as if he is departing from a staple of his life. Ira’s entire life has been dedicated to the market in some way or another, since he was a boy. His father first frowned on hunting, and then realized what a profitable endeavor it was. There were not many equines who wished to surpass their natural instinct as a herbivore and kill animals for clothing and wares.
(It bothers Ira sometimes, still. But he lets these thoughts run down the current of his mind as water does a river. He does not linger on them).
Especially as he breaks away, beginning to exit the market.
Ira can’t quite bring himself to do so, just yet. The uphill climb back toward Denocte carries with it a sense of finality; and so rather than take that path, Ira loops back around. He takes the route he knows few walk, so he might observe the place of his growing up without stepping out of it. Just a moment more, Ira thinks—
However, Ira finds the spot he liked to frequent occupied.
“Are you newer in our Court?” Ira asks, conversationally. He approaches from behind, but did not intend to surprise or sneak up on the other man. He speaks well before he is near him and, once there, stands abreast. Ira finds the other stallion striking in his coloring and form. The stranger is taller than Ira by far, which he does not feel intimidated by, but merely notes with a kind of curiosity. He recognizes a soldier’s build when he sees it, and they are odds in the way Ira possesses all the wiry musculature of a wild animal versus the strength of a man who practices for it. “It’s beautiful,” Ira remarks, next, of the controlled chaos below.
(It bothers Ira sometimes, still. But he lets these thoughts run down the current of his mind as water does a river. He does not linger on them).
Especially as he breaks away, beginning to exit the market.
Ira can’t quite bring himself to do so, just yet. The uphill climb back toward Denocte carries with it a sense of finality; and so rather than take that path, Ira loops back around. He takes the route he knows few walk, so he might observe the place of his growing up without stepping out of it. Just a moment more, Ira thinks—
However, Ira finds the spot he liked to frequent occupied.
“Are you newer in our Court?” Ira asks, conversationally. He approaches from behind, but did not intend to surprise or sneak up on the other man. He speaks well before he is near him and, once there, stands abreast. Ira finds the other stallion striking in his coloring and form. The stranger is taller than Ira by far, which he does not feel intimidated by, but merely notes with a kind of curiosity. He recognizes a soldier’s build when he sees it, and they are odds in the way Ira possesses all the wiry musculature of a wild animal versus the strength of a man who practices for it. “It’s beautiful,” Ira remarks, next, of the controlled chaos below.
How we live is so different from how we ought to live that he who studies what ought to be done rather than what is done will learn the way to his downfall rather than to his preservation.
@Voodoo
