there are many paths to tread
The desert, like all other things eventually do, had grown boring.
Since his escapade into the night court, the capitol to the north had grown suspiciously quiet. There were rumors, of course - the silver king was said to be plotting another great feat to bring one of the courts to heel. Sometimes the shadows whispered that his rage for denocte knew no bounds; other times, they claimed a new target somewhere in the west. That was only one of the rumors, albeit one that often took different faces.
Toulouse had also heard that the crow had left solterra, that he had slipped out unseen and vanished in the night. A girl in the markets had told him the king was sick, that a server boy she knew had served the king medicine in his bed. The next day he’d heard from a soldier that the king had ready sent out half of his army, hunting for the relic on the island. The day after that, a blind cripple had prophesied that the king’s very own pet monster would consume him in his sleep, three days hence.
That was a fortnight ago.
No matter how many tales the pale man heard, none of them proved true. King Raum of Solterra was, as ever, an enigma: distant and cold, shrouded in secrecy.
But his secrets were no secrets at all, only pretenses at mystery. Solterra was quiet, save for her peoples’ sobbing. Even now, as Toulouse flicked an ear back behind him, he swore he could hear them gnashing their teeth.
Eventually, more exciting talk had reached him. He had hesitated, if only for a second; he had a job to do in Solterra, a duty to serve. But then he had laughed, and the next morning had found him deep in the Mors, trudging towards a new horizon. Toulouse had only ever shown loyalty towards one man, and his desires always lined up with his own.
And thus does he find himself in Terrastella.
He isn’t sure what he’s hunting - only that there’s something to be found here, something more tempting than even the Relic of Tempus, in part because of the history, the notes, the secrecy. He couldn’t have stayed away even if he’d wanted to.
The tall grasses of the Susurro are pale, as pale as his own skin, dancing along his legs as he wades through a sea of gold. Today he has left his scarves at home, the better to feel the sun and wind upon his own skin - only his diamond horseshoes remain, and the green pendant wound about his neck.
He lifts his white, horned head to the sky.
And smiles.
@open to anyone!!
taking part in the halcyon scavenger hunt c:
@
happy to participate!
