Teiran had not set foot in the Colosseum since the day Solis had seemingly wished it into being what seemed like years ago. One moment there had been only the cliffs towering over the canyon floor and then there was this. A structure so strong, so enduring, forged from sand and stone. If there was a better analogy for the citizens of Solterra she did not know one. Another thing Teiran had yet to do was fight here, to sharpen her blade on a stone and spill blood with it in this arena. So much had happened between then and today, and she had been too busy performing her duties to have fun. If one could call it fun. It was probably as close as the warrior would ever get to such a thing. Her sage green eyes were focused on the arena floor as she ringed it with her body, her steps carrying her past columns and stands. What she sees is empty cages, empty risers and yet that is an anticipation in her, as if a battle was about to begin. As if she can see it playing out in front of her. Then the sound of steps not her own reach her ears. Suddenly Teiran is a warrior again, a soldier, and her eyes are sharper than any knife. She snakes her way around, slipping between shadows like they are a second skin. She is quiet like a stalking cat and her muscles roll beneath her skin like the sand dunes of the Mors. There is nothing mechanical about her in that moment—she is only deadly grace. When she finally spies a shape moving through the Colosseum her plan is to move up behind them, though whether they see her or not now no longer matters. When she is close enough Teiran stops and lifts her head and the sunlight glints off the silver collar at her neck. "Why are you following me?" |
@Basileios
