M A X E N C E UNEASY LIES THE HEAD THAT WEARS THE CROWN
The Commander had stirred after Solis' first breath, and as his routine demanded, began a skybound patrol of the canyons and desert took him over the slumbering kingdom. The uniform of straps and medalions, trophies and rank had been left in his chambers that morning and for once he took to the sky as the gods had made him; not even his hair had been pulled back into those two characteristic buns of a warrior and not one inch of his coat had been preened. All that had accompanied him skyward was his skin and blue eyes, not a thread more. Seraphinas note was one that he could not ignore, and it was as his flight took him back in the direction of the fort that the author of the message came into view upon the battlements. She appeared still and vigil; strangely calm. Too calm. Whatever was on the Emissary's mind would soon be on his and with a keen interest the sovereign landed upon the terrace stone, one hoof after the other and wings expelling all sand to the walls around him. To the battlements he strode, keen steps taking him upward to the heights of the walls until his eyes could meet with the former Warrior's. "Seraphina" was his bellow, head held aloft and with no attempt to outstretch his nose in greeting. Turning his rounded nose over the landscape before them, positioning his body to stand parallel to her own, the gaze of the lion was fierce and proud over his pride land, though still, he questioned what was on her mind. What qualm could she have with their progress? In his mind they had made leaps and bounds as a community; an indomitable one at that. "What dwells upon your mind?" the commander asked, eyes not even attempting to look her way. |
