It was an ocean of grass and it stretched on endlessly in every direction. No matter how he turned, left or right, round and round until the scenery blurred into a haze of blue and green, of earth and sky, of wind and grass and the fragrance of summer fading, the horizon was all he could see. It was an exhilarating sensation, as daunting as it was humbling, and the urge to run came over him with inescapable intensity. With no reason to refuse, Finnian laughed out loud and obliged, digging hard black hooves deep into the dry earth as he heaved himself forth.
There was something extremely pleasant about pushing his body to the limit. The sensation of his own muscles bunching and extending, the burn of hot air rushing through the wind-pipes, the sweet ache as stiff muscles and joints began to loosen up and feel the strain of the run... It was addictive, a constant craving that old age or infirmity would never take away, a hallmark of youth and independence that no one could take away, that was a part of his very essence. Finnian laughed again as he ran, a fierce wild laughter of sheer joy that celebrated life after his near escape from death... but when he finally slowed down, winded and sweaty, with green in the hair and blue in the eyes, the jubilant smile slowly began to fade from his lips.
The past was, alas, rarely far from his thoughts. It was well and good that he had found a nice place to rest and recuperate from his ordeals, good to have found friends already in this foreign land, but it did little to soothe the deep loneliness within him. Folding the legs beneath him to revel in the emerald sea, the young stallion thought of home, his thoughts going out to the ones he had left behind. Good friends, familiar vistas, the graves of his parents... All lay far to the south now, unreachable unless he found some way of walking on water or managed to grow wings. Never would he try to cross that ocean again; drowning had carved a deep fear of the salty desert into his mind, and he would be hard pressed to even wade out into the cold blue again. It should make him feel safe. If he couldn't get to them, then surely no one would be able to get to him either...
But Finnian did not feel safe. Merely angry, and sad, and haunted by the same questions he had chewed over and over since the day his father had been killed.
Who had done it? Why had they attacked? And, most importantly for him, how was he going to find the answers to his questions?
The notion that he might have to live with these questions for the rest of his life had touched him, but Finnian did not find it appealing. He wanted to know who had destroyed his life, and make them pay for every tear he'd ever shed.
Staring up into the sky from where he lay on the ground, he sighed at the drifting clouds and let the blue envelop him, sending his thoughts all a whirl across the universe.
Why the Gods he had chosen to come out into a giant field in the middle of the bloody day was completely beyond him. Not that he hates the sun, nor does he feel confined to the secrecy of night. He's an assassin, not a ninja for bloody sake. Still, choosing to explore this new home in the middle of the day was not normally an ideal circumstance. A disgruntled huff slips out as he shakes his head at his sorry ass.
So he wanders through the fields, looking very much like the predator he is. He might have made an effort to blend in, except there's no blending in with a giant open field and all the solitude one could hope for. So instead, stalking like he owns the place and acting like he could easily end any life he wants to is just the image he wants to project. Stalwart sergeant, prowling predator - stay away.
But it turns out he's not alone. Not for long at least. And who is this sorry soul? The thought strolls through. He sees a buckskin creature standing, apparently lost in thought as it stood still, then disappear in the tall grasses as it lay down. Anonymous travels closer, nostrils widening to take in the smells around him. A stallion smelling of pine tar, smoke, a whiff of the sea perhaps? A denizen of Terrastella. He stops not far off, but not within sight while the beast remained down. There's no reason I HAVE to introduce myself. I'm not here to make friends.
But still he stays. Turquoise and gold eyes remain trained on the stallion as he listens for anything that might be mused aloud. And if the buckskin chooses to stand again, or even just lift his head from the grass, and spot Anonymous.... Well then introductions can be made. But Anonymous will not initiate.
Dark ruminations aside, it was difficult to keep up the brooding attitude when people were watching. Though it took him a while, Finnian eventually became aware of the eyes that regarded him from a distance, and for a while he tried to ignore the onlooker, figuring it for a passerby with time to spare. When the sensation of watchful eyes did not let up or disappear however, the young stallion started to feel a bit uncomfortable. He knew he was a handsome enough fellow, but that someone would grow entranced enough to actually hang around and just watch him was a bit... well it was flattering, but not something he wanted to condone, ya know?
When it finally became too much, the buckskin raised his head and searched the horizon until he found the perpetrator. It was nigh impossible to hide on this plain, where the most noticeable feature was the billowing grass and the occasional low-growing shrub, and he soon spotted the person; a tall, looming figure, bay and black and rather daunting to look at. Faint amusement quickly turned into worry that he had landed himself into trouble somehow - rolled on the fellow's favorite grazing spot perhaps - but as he was loathe to show any outward signs of unease, Finnian opted for the cordial route instead.
"Nice weather today, ey, neighbor" he offered, raising his head just enough that he could be seen acknowledging the bigger stallion's presence. But he did not get up, nor tense or show any other sign of worry - at least not on the outside. Best not make himself noticed as either a brawler or a coward; that was, he had found, the best way to avoid trouble.
It takes a moment for the buckskin to raise his head. Anonymous cocks his head slightly to the side, wondering at the delay. He can't imagine that the stallion hasn't noticed his presence. It doesn't take an assassin to pick up on the sensation of being watched. Still he stands there, the sun passing over him to cast a dark shadow on the ground. Wouldn't it be so much better if he could hide in the daylight as well as he does in the night? Nothing could be done about it, at least, not at the moment.
Finally the stallion lifts his head, but stays on the ground. If he didn't feel like a predator before, he does now. He takes a step around the recumbent form, thinking if he were feline how he might lick his chops, letting his claws extend into the ground. But no, he's just a poor hybrid. Blessed with horns and wings, equipped with daggers, he's not helpless. His expression gives away nothing, eyes devoid of emotion. Anonymous glances toward the sun as the buckskin mentions the weather, then back down. His voice is smooth and cool. "Indeed. The Sun God has blessed us." I tilt my head and let a soft smile quirk on my lips, imitating appropriate societal interaction. "I hope I didn't disturb you too much. But where are my manners? I am Emrys." He'd used it with Only, but then clarified that his real name is Anonymous. He doubts Only will pass the information on, and surely not pass it south to a court he doesn't belong to. Perhaps that assumption will come to bite him in the ass.
Well, that was also a way to put it. Finnian glanced up at the sun as if he expected to see the face of the god peer back down on him, but when he saw nothing more than the blinding orb in the sky he shrugged, politely refraining from commenting on the statement. Some people were more religious than others; personally he had always kept a firm distance from such things, quietly encouraged by his father. 'Don't bother the gods, and they won't bother you' the old man had often said, and Finnian had agreed... though lately it had seemed that perhaps the divine ones weren't adhering to the same rules.
As for whether he had been disturbed or not... well, what would you call it if someone came to stare at you while you were busy wasting the day away?
"No, not at all" Finnian lied without so much as blinking, his smile smooth as silk and the blue eyes very earnest as they lingered upon the towering figure. "It's me pleasure to make yer acquaintance, sir Emrys... I hope ye don't mind me not getting up, I feel none too formal at the present. Finnian is my name, newly come to these lands and this Court."
He suppressed a yawn. It was always tedious, this process of tiptoeing around introductions before you figured out whether the other was someone you could get along with or not. Personally Finnian was able to get cordial with most people, but some were pricklier than others and there was always the odd exception, to whom he took instant dislike - or who couldn't seem to stomach his cheerful nature and laid-back attitude. The young stallion hoped this Emrys person was not one of those types; it was far too hot to fight, and he had no desire to trek all the way to the battle-grounds just for a greeting.
The buckskin remains on the ground, clearly not threatened or impressed enough to rise as Anonymous greets him. A pompous ass might take it as an insult, but the assassin does not. After all, this is a pretense for him. The blue eyes gazing back at him seem genuine, though. The stoutly fellow is kind and polite, matching Emyrs's decorum. Oh the games we play. Pretenses, all of it. But he cannot simply go around announcing his name and calling himself the great assassin. Blending in is part of the game. He dips his dual-horned skull with a smile that does not quite reach his eyes. "But of course, Finnian. Feel no need to stand on ceremony for my sake."
Anonymous steps back, giving this Finnian a little more breathing space, hoping to encourage the stallion to feel at ease. He thinks for a moment on his next words, and decides that the information is inconsequential to his life plans. "It seems we have something in common then. What brings you here, if I might ask?" Did he really care? No. But perhaps it might prove useful information in the future. And what story would he give Finnian? Was he a wandering minstrel come to find a new home to spread his songs and ballads? A stranger. A stranger in a new land. That's all he was - a commoner.
