to feel that we exist, even though in pain
♠︎ ♕ ♠︎
It becomes quickly apparent that neither he nor his new companion are familiar with the city’s layout.
The main marketplace stretches a half-mile down a wide corridor, draped with colored silk canopies and paper lanterns, each dead-end alleyway stuffed with more goods. Their shadows slim and lengthen, the crowds begin to thin, and still there is no sign of their quarry. August tries not to be irritated at the near-miss, but he keeps remembering the way the stallion had turned back to look, the gold of his eye catching in the light - he would recognize August if he’d seen him, he is sure. And if he had it’s possible they are not the only ones doing the hunting, and at a disadvantage.
If he were home he would have no trouble asking merchants and shoppers alike for help. Here he trusts none of them, and from the slide of their eyes as the pair passes it is mutual. Anyway, he doesn’t know what he’s looking for.
Now they stand at the southeastern edge of the city, near enough the docks and the shoreline to hear the clamoring gulls, near enough the desert to see how the light has turned to rose gold over the dunes. The path before them forks, the left into shadow and the right in sun. August’s patience for this task is frayed; he watches a scrawny cat leap after fat pigeons and turns to Warset with a shake of his head. Something about the look in her eyes, the set of her mouth, makes him feel like more of a disappointment. He’d rather have her teeth on his hip again. “Care to pick a path?”
@warset | <3
