Voltaire
The blue stallion had to be careful – very careful in a place such as this. It would be too easy for him to fall into complacency and allow himself moment of happiness… but Voltaire didn’t deserve such things, and had to constantly remind himself as he walked through the Dawn Court, that he did so only at the behest of their king. It didn’t pain him to be friendly to the other courts, for truly, Voltaire had nothing against any of them (even the Night Court, though his bretheren in Day Court surely had their reasons to dislike the Night Courtians, even if he’d yet to understand the rationale).
He had followed a respectable distance beside Maxence, always aware of his status in the herd. As a healer, Voltaire had no real prowess on the battlefield to offer to his warrior nation. It was the warriors who would always hold the upper ranks, and it did not bother the denim stag to hold back and fade into oblivion. Truthfully, he rather liked being where he was in the herd, a watcher and a listener. As they journeyed, Maxence had told a great many tales, and though he listened without offering input, Voltaire’s respect for their leader was only continuing to grow. It was good, to be in a herd not only where they were strong and brave, but where the leader had truly earned the respect of his followers. Maxence was anything but an armchair quarterback.
They neared the heart of the festival, and slowly the quiet tales of war began to be replaced by a fanciful sort of music and rich aromas. His throat watered, itching to taste the sweet flavors of fall, even as he stopped along the way to gather up herbs for his healing – ignoring the twinge of jealousy at the bounty that Oriens had so obviously provided for his kingdom. If only their own land had been graced with such medicinal plants, perhaps they would lift the ban on having children… such things would ultimately lead to their demise, if you asked him.
But now was not the time to focus on the gains and losses of the Courts. He shook away the thoughts of duty, even sliding his well-worn satchel to the side as Somnus greeted their small delegation, wondering what wonders the Dawn Court had prepared for such an event as he nodded quietly to the golden welcomer.
He had followed a respectable distance beside Maxence, always aware of his status in the herd. As a healer, Voltaire had no real prowess on the battlefield to offer to his warrior nation. It was the warriors who would always hold the upper ranks, and it did not bother the denim stag to hold back and fade into oblivion. Truthfully, he rather liked being where he was in the herd, a watcher and a listener. As they journeyed, Maxence had told a great many tales, and though he listened without offering input, Voltaire’s respect for their leader was only continuing to grow. It was good, to be in a herd not only where they were strong and brave, but where the leader had truly earned the respect of his followers. Maxence was anything but an armchair quarterback.
They neared the heart of the festival, and slowly the quiet tales of war began to be replaced by a fanciful sort of music and rich aromas. His throat watered, itching to taste the sweet flavors of fall, even as he stopped along the way to gather up herbs for his healing – ignoring the twinge of jealousy at the bounty that Oriens had so obviously provided for his kingdom. If only their own land had been graced with such medicinal plants, perhaps they would lift the ban on having children… such things would ultimately lead to their demise, if you asked him.
But now was not the time to focus on the gains and losses of the Courts. He shook away the thoughts of duty, even sliding his well-worn satchel to the side as Somnus greeted their small delegation, wondering what wonders the Dawn Court had prepared for such an event as he nodded quietly to the golden welcomer.
Day Court Caretaker
@Maxence, @Vadim, @Somnus
