He just didn't know what to do.
He stayed in the swamp for a reason. He was a Commoner for a reason.
Was he smart enough to have potential as a Sage?
Yes.
Did he care enough about others and have the right personality to be a Caretaker?
Yes.
Was he, despite his currently, slightly underfed state, still a strong male with quite fearsome weapons in his jaws who could make quite a threatening enemy of the battlefield if he so chose, quite an intimidating Warrior?
Yes.
Why wasn't he any of those things? Why was he a Commoner?
Because he worried about things too much. He fretted and he fussed and he got into his own head and intrusive thoughts ran wild with panicked screams until he himself panicked and took off a gallop. He stayed in the swamplands because he was scared, he was afraid, of what, he could never be sure, but he was so afraid of everything that he simply stayed tucked away, and did none of the things that he was fully capable of if he put his mind to it because while he had the potential, he didn't have the right countenance.
What good was a Sage who panicked when spoken to?
What good was a Caretaker who couldn't handle stressful situations?
What good was a Warrior who ran away from the first sign of conflict?
There was a reason he was a Commoner. He shouldn't be involved in the affairs of gods and kings.
Yet here he was, his gaze constantly drawn to the small folded paper sitting on the ground, tucked under a root. It looked almost harmless, could be seen as nothing more than a trinket, if one didn't know the contents of the words within. Anyone who saw it would think maybe it was a love note, would pry it open to read with giggling eyes and a snickering voice, wondering who the recluse of the swamp had a crush on.
Only to find their face draining alabaster with horror at the contents within.
To him, it practically seemed a declaration of war.
Oh Vespera, sure he was probably exaggerating and overthinking things, but even his logic murmured that the note had had a very aggressive tone to it, and the words within seemed very grandiose for someone with a simple grudge. Seemed... more dangerous, more large-scale, than that.
He needed to bring it to the Sovereign, but what if the one who left it was still around? What if he was caught? Would he be killed for seeing something he shouldn't have? But it had been hung for all to see. Was it a trap?
What if it was just a prank? He'd be upsetting Florentine for nothing. He'd probably be kicked out for being such a nuisance, would blame him, and it wouldn't even be unfair.
With all these thoughts whirling round and round, Auru paced back and forth, not knowing what to do. His eyes kept drifting to the note. As time went on, he found the small, seemingly harmless paper the sole focus of his attentions more than he cared to think about.
It was like it was taunting him.
He stilled, staring at it for a moment with a haunted look in his eyes, the bags under them so prominent from his restless nights with the weight of the inked words hanging over him like an executioner. He looked at the small, innocently folded paper, and he felt like a viper was staring at him dead in the eye, looking right back.
Like a challenge.
'Approach me if you dare.'
('Unleash me upon Novus if you dare.')
But what if he didn't bring it, and someone was hurt anyway?
It was that which motivated him to suddenly grasp the note tightly with his telekinesis, not stalling in any movement so as not to give himself the time for self-doubt and introspection. He would never be able to do this if he let himself think.
The brown stallion sprung from his hideaway, note hefted high as he sloshed through the waters as quickly as he was able, using a year's worth of knowledge to swerve to the fastest paths to the keep, stumbling several times but keeping the note safely contained until he burst from the trees and onto solid ground, racing across the grass with a gallop that seemed far faster than he had ever run as he gave it his all to reach the keep, the capital of the Dusk Court, in record time.
He was heaving for air and felt like he was moments away from passing out as he burst into the keep, his hooves clattering over the stone as every muscle within him burned from the long run. Darkness threatened to creep in on the edges of his visions but he fought it valiantly, the wild mane about his neck and chest mussed and every aspect of him looking sweaty and windblown.
He didn't have the breath to call out for her, so he simply kept on, looking frantically around ever corner with the note still held weakly in trembling telekinesis.
@
OOC: Drama ahoy!
