The call came, at last, for the hands of all who were not soldiers.
The roar of Maxence’s demand seeped its unwelcome way into Raum’s room. It was coarse and loud and unavoidable, as was any king’s right. Yet the silver Crow’s teeth ground together, his limbs aching their furious protest, his spine still tight from his labour the day prior.
Blue eyes, churning like a wild sea, rested upon the filled water buckets he and Rhoswen had helped collect. They lay, cool and delectable, a reminder of the world that existed outside of Solterra: of a place with a lake that shone like glass... Denocte.
It was not just Raum’s limbs that began to ache then, but his heart, his soul. This was not a place for him, Caligo sculpted him for shadow and darkness and yet he wove himself silently into Solis’ society, much to Rhoswen’s chagrin. The fire girl watched him, his secret safe but her threats still resounded in his ears. Never had he heard such vehement threats spit like sparking flames from her tongue - not even when they fought before she left Denocte.
Her words were leeches, sucking away his confidence in her as though it was little more than blood to be let. She had been a sister to him once, and yet they far from that now. Love was a gossamer thread between them; so thin, so fragile that some days not even he was sure he could see it, nor feel its pull.
With reluctance keening through every limb, he rises from the bed, still quicksilver, still fluid despite everything. Placing the slings across his back, two pails hanging from each side, the Crow slowly made his way towards the gathering group.
It was not a long walk, but it was slow. Where once the orphan boy had never lacked for water, now he had begun to value very drop. And so, each step, even liquid like his, was shaved and smoothed, until he slunk slowly, slowly across the ground. Voices ahead snag his attention, his eyes settling first upon Maxence and then a boy of gold and sunlight, and near to him, a girl so similar.
The Crow moves the pails to the gathering of buckets beside the thirsting well and dipped his head to Solterra’s lion. “Forgive my delay, I did not wish to loose water, so my progress was slow.” Indicating to the pails he downs beside the rest, he says, “We bought these from the river yesterday, extra stock.”
The trio were already toiling, a cloud of dust pluming from where their feet ploughed through the soil. In such quiet compliance as to make his presence quite unremarkable or memorable, the quicksilver Crow silently falls in step beside the labourers. He listens to the tale of the Lion of Babel, his eyes shifting fleetingly to the lion upon Maxence’s back, his maw parted in a perpetual roar.
It was a good job lions were not interested in the affairs of birds.
@Maxence @Bexley @Vadim Sorry for the delay!
The roar of Maxence’s demand seeped its unwelcome way into Raum’s room. It was coarse and loud and unavoidable, as was any king’s right. Yet the silver Crow’s teeth ground together, his limbs aching their furious protest, his spine still tight from his labour the day prior.
Blue eyes, churning like a wild sea, rested upon the filled water buckets he and Rhoswen had helped collect. They lay, cool and delectable, a reminder of the world that existed outside of Solterra: of a place with a lake that shone like glass... Denocte.
It was not just Raum’s limbs that began to ache then, but his heart, his soul. This was not a place for him, Caligo sculpted him for shadow and darkness and yet he wove himself silently into Solis’ society, much to Rhoswen’s chagrin. The fire girl watched him, his secret safe but her threats still resounded in his ears. Never had he heard such vehement threats spit like sparking flames from her tongue - not even when they fought before she left Denocte.
Her words were leeches, sucking away his confidence in her as though it was little more than blood to be let. She had been a sister to him once, and yet they far from that now. Love was a gossamer thread between them; so thin, so fragile that some days not even he was sure he could see it, nor feel its pull.
With reluctance keening through every limb, he rises from the bed, still quicksilver, still fluid despite everything. Placing the slings across his back, two pails hanging from each side, the Crow slowly made his way towards the gathering group.
It was not a long walk, but it was slow. Where once the orphan boy had never lacked for water, now he had begun to value very drop. And so, each step, even liquid like his, was shaved and smoothed, until he slunk slowly, slowly across the ground. Voices ahead snag his attention, his eyes settling first upon Maxence and then a boy of gold and sunlight, and near to him, a girl so similar.
The Crow moves the pails to the gathering of buckets beside the thirsting well and dipped his head to Solterra’s lion. “Forgive my delay, I did not wish to loose water, so my progress was slow.” Indicating to the pails he downs beside the rest, he says, “We bought these from the river yesterday, extra stock.”
The trio were already toiling, a cloud of dust pluming from where their feet ploughed through the soil. In such quiet compliance as to make his presence quite unremarkable or memorable, the quicksilver Crow silently falls in step beside the labourers. He listens to the tale of the Lion of Babel, his eyes shifting fleetingly to the lion upon Maxence’s back, his maw parted in a perpetual roar.
It was a good job lions were not interested in the affairs of birds.
@Maxence @
![[Image: x341oLX.png]](https://i.imgur.com/x341oLX.png)
You're one microscopic cog
in his catastrophic plan
in his catastrophic plan
