Asterion
His gaze slips to the gray stallion’s and he smiles before nodding and turning his eyes once more ahead. It’s the answer he would have given, and it makes him like the stranger. Asterion wonders if there is a difference between aimless wandering and adventure; he wonders if there’s anything particular to find but sand and seashells and strange shapes the water has carved into the rock. Nothing here has given him the impression that there may be monsters or wild magic. Not like Ravos, where following your feet might lead you to a god on a bad day, or a maze so thick with magic you could taste it, bitter and metallic. For a moment he forgets he is not alone; his sigh is a slow thing. Maybe it’s an attempt to make up for it, the eagerness in his reply. “I’m from a sea not so different than this one, though it never got this cold.” When he closes his eyes, they almost sound the same; were the sun a little warmer, he might have been there, with his mother and his sister. “And then a place called Novus, where the gods often visited but the magic was…growing wild.” It takes him a beat or two to realize that this is probably not what the stranger meant. From meant Novus, now; this was, after all, his home. Asterion shakes his head, mane and forelock tangled and thick from sea-spray. “I’m from the Dusk Court,” he says, glancing again at the gray, hoping the words sounded more sure, more proud than they felt. “And you?” He's already forgotten that they never traded names; he's never been too worried about such things. @ |