Noam expects the stranger to continue his path, undisturbed by the words that fall out of his mouth. He expects the lack of hospitality in his eyes, or the impenetrable stance to deflect any hint or purchase of intrigue. It appears to be working. Even as the gilded ghost finds his footing momentarily, and his questions rise – rhetorical, when the gap between them lengthens with each step. Noam’s body remains stiff and unyielding on his perch of sand.
It is when he has cast his gaze out into that infinite world, that he feels the stranger’s gaze sink unabated for attention. The deflection of gold eyes that bend with such precision, that the sun has lost its touch on Noam – for just a second – a second that peels his gaze from the return of solitude. From what little joy he takes wandering these forgotten places.
Do you mean why come to Solterra? Or to this spot?
Noam finds he is strangely amused that the ghost extracts two inquiries. And that these two questions have set the stallion astir. Such that the change is swift – that embers have become flame, and the energy peaks past the stranger’s perspiration and labors, to breathe lively in the stifling air. To ascertain anything else leads to pure speculation, and without having to open his mouth, the ghost is already two steps ahead. Perhaps the ghost is a prideful creature – though not uncommon among those who claim to be Solterran.
Who would deny their birthright to the God of Day?
The flame wanes inside the ghost – and perhaps, there is doubt in the way he silences himself. The way his gaze loses precision. Gaining breadth, and vigor with another breath of words.
“Leaving…,” Noam could only imagine it. Had he thought of leaving before? Not for forever, not in the way that one abandons ship, plant roots in the other kingdoms… They were here, somewhere – eroded, unkept and finite – he was cursed to feel this desolate connection to the earth that had bore his life.
Noam finally moves to consider the carved-out sand ahead, and the hint of greenery nestled in its berth. He offers an off-handed huff, his version of a laugh as the ghost mentions the heat. “Lead on,” he consents. Drives his limbs into the sand, though – he would much prefer taking to the air instead.
“I’m hunting for a man who likes to dip his coffers in the slave market.” Takes pause – though only briefly as he glances beside the stranger. Observing – for what he could, to supplement what little he knew of the proud Solterran. “Some things never change.”
Noam would leave it at that – step back and see what might transpire. Some were indifferent of the slaves, but just as many condemned the trade – it was illegal after all. Not that it stopped such exchanges entirely.
He trailed just slightly behind the stranger. Not entirely abreast, not too far. His wings shuffled close when they began to walk.
“Then, there really is nothing here for you. If you seek the other kingdoms.”
It seemed traitorous, to even say it out loud.
As they approached, his eyes scanned the sand for any signs of life under the brush. Pressed the sand momentarily with the weak pressures created by the telekinesis. Raked the surface with what he had imagined were claws – and appeared satisfied when nothing stirred. He waited until the ghost sat to one side, and he the other.
