The stallion sighed as he lowered himself to the sun-warmed grasses of the oasis, the steady heat of Solis’ eye soaking into Ephraim’s bones. A small symphony erupted as joints cracked and popped while the male settled over the softened earth, seafoam eyes glazing with relief. Giving another contended sigh, the grey leaned forward and bit off a mouthful of grass, chewing happily as he watched the mirrorlike waters of the pond. At this time of day, the small lake and the clearness of the sky played tricks on the old man’s eyes, the eggshell blue of the heavens attempting to convince him that a piece of it had fallen to the earth.
Winter had sunk its frigid claws into Novus, though Solterra was lucky to have slipped the majority of it’s grasp for the time being. The sun, despite burning as proudly as ever, had seemed a bit sleepier these days — rising sluggishly in the dawn and dipping quickly back to dusk once the noon hour had passed. Ephraim supposed that he could not blame that glowing disc, could not blame his patron war god for seeking some rest. Hell, Ephraim sought rest frequently, and his time upon this earth could only be measured in fives, Lord Solis’ lifespan had stretched eons beyond that; the poor angry bastard deserved a good nap.
Tearing up another mouthful of tender grass, the old warrior nodded to himself, thoughts straying to gratitude and what blend of tea he would leave steaming on the tiny altar he had set up in honor of Solterra’s Lord. It had been a bit of a culture shock when, in his younger, angrier years, when the war had yet to leave him, Ephraim had discovered that it was not custom in the Day capitol to leave offerings to the War God. Every home he had visited lacked the harmony of an altar to their God, and it had been difficult for the stallion to find laurels of bay leaves at market.
Such things had been taken for granted in his tiny village — the cohesiveness of their interpretation of religion, the consistency of ritual in their everyday lives — that when it was taken from him, Ephraim had felt ungrounded, shaken from his roots. Thus, when he had received his contracts to other, greener courts, the grey had sought out the herb vendors and the incense stalls and spent his stipend readily upon his religious affects. Of course, the other mercenaries in his band had laughed at him, often goading him into a brawl over the defense of his practices, but their sly words had not barred the male from his faith.
“Would you have protected me from my own with such vigor if I hadn’t honored you, Lord?”
@Crux (or Levi) whichever one you feel muse for here :)
