Raglan
may the bridges i burn light the way
The Solterran sun shone bright enough to burn away the shadow of guilt that had plagued Raglan since his return to Novus.
And so the orphan found himself seeking refuge within a furnace.
The temperature amid the sands continued to climb, and Raglan was reminded of the stories he had been told of Solis’ fierce summers; of cobbles so hot that hooves melted fast to their surface, of wells that ran miles upon miles into the earth only for the bucket to be hoisted up with water boiled to dregs, and of sands so scalding that pools of molten glass formed themselves beneath the war God’s relentless heat. As he walked, blackened hooves clacking softly amid the bustle of festival preparation, with the stifling air pressing about him like a second skin, Raglan began to believe the stories.
Though while part of the bay rogue resented the lack of cool alleys and chilled streams here in Solterra’s capitol, his complaints were easily hushed in the face of the stallion’s complete anonymity. With Reichenbach vanished, a new ass seated in the throne of Day, and the Crows whisked away beneath the cover of Night, the Silvertongue had no need to worry about any creature in Solterra recognizing head nor hair of the Last Crow.
Indeed, beneath the furious eye of Solis, even Caligo must shy away; and with her absence, so too did the weight of grief lift from the pegasus’ shoulders.
It was only luck that Raglan had returned to Novus during a festival, and it was only his rumbling belly that had lead the lanky male to the massive table resting in the square. At the sight of those rough-hewn planks — worn to a shine by decades of use — being laden with tray after tray and trough after trough of food and drink, the Silvertongue’s mouth began to water and his stomach started up a racket loud enough to frighten a forest into silence. Inhaling, the lad had to bite back a groan at the intoxicating scent of pastries fresh from the ovens and sweets glazed with honey and sugar.
Yet, he was a child of Denocte, a son of Solis’ most hated sibling — if he were to sup on the God’s festival foods, would he not call down the renowned fury of the Sun? Raglan swayed slightly in his indecision, the desire to gorge himself battling against the ancient divisions that had been sung into his blood before he was even born. The bay took one step toward the table, then another, unable to hide his hesitance or the tension bracing his spine.
Another step forward and the Crow found himself in the path of a stallion with a grin in his eyes and a platter of buns as his charge. The arrival of the alicorn broke Raglan’s spell, the Silvertongue lifting the corners of his mouth into a smile of his own as he pivoted and fell into step alongside the pastry-lugging stranger. It was not his job to keep at bay the eternal rivalry between Godsiblings; if they were so concerned for the conduct of a twice-orphaned Crow, there had been countless times that the deities could have stepped in before now.
“A good day to celebrate that days exist, is it not?” Came his greeting, silvery eyes sparkling with mirth, “I am Raglan, newly refamiliarized with Novus and a Solterran first timer— would you mind telling me what this festival is all about, and if any of your buns are eager to make my acquaintance?”
“Talk”
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