Friends, Lost and Found | Ithran and Godric | Private
Mar 26, 2017 11:44:40 GMT -6
PaganStars likes this
Post by songsofinfinity on Mar 26, 2017 11:44:40 GMT -6
- Friends, Lost and Found -
Characters
Godric, Ithran
Location
Southern end of the War Lord's Road, Onea
Time of Day
Midday
Weather
Grey skies, muggy and hot
ITHRAN
Vagabond | Vindicator
"A wise man fears three things: the sea at storm, a night with no moon, and the anger of a gentle man."
"A wise man fears three things: the sea at storm, a night with no moon, and the anger of a gentle man."
Ithran walked slowly down the War Lord's road, listening carefully for sounds of patrols or other travelers. The War Forged policy towards Vagabonds meant he had to keep a close watch to avoid being caught, even here, fairly close to the border of Eithne. The skies above him were a heavy pale grey, and thunder rumbled in the far distance, though there were no signs of rain.
Onea still didn't feel quite right. Even though Ithran had spent several months here now, it still felt... wrong. His memories of his homeland had been faint, but being here, among the trees and mountains of his childhood, had brought them back with a vengeance. Memories of his father and mother, working and trading as he played and watched them filled his head. They weren't nearly so painful as they had been years ago, and he looked back on those days with some fondness now.
He missed them, of course, but there were more pressing and recent memories to fill his head. His hind leg twinged slightly as it twisted on a loose stone and he winced. His limp hadn't gone away as he'd hoped after the attack on the Crucible, and it seemed he'd be stuck with it. It could have been worse, though. He could have been captured. Like Godric.
Turning away from the painful memory he focused on the trees around him. There was a faint rustling of undergrowth and a small black blur shot out of the brush and up his leg, chittering energetically. Laughing affectionately, Ithran paused for a moment to let the flying squirrel settle himself. He needed to get to Sirith, back to the friends he'd made there. The world was dangerous for all Vagabonds now, and especially so for Vindicators, and he would have to take care if he was to get there without being caught.
With a sigh he kept walking, one hoof in front of the other down the ancient road.
Onea still didn't feel quite right. Even though Ithran had spent several months here now, it still felt... wrong. His memories of his homeland had been faint, but being here, among the trees and mountains of his childhood, had brought them back with a vengeance. Memories of his father and mother, working and trading as he played and watched them filled his head. They weren't nearly so painful as they had been years ago, and he looked back on those days with some fondness now.
He missed them, of course, but there were more pressing and recent memories to fill his head. His hind leg twinged slightly as it twisted on a loose stone and he winced. His limp hadn't gone away as he'd hoped after the attack on the Crucible, and it seemed he'd be stuck with it. It could have been worse, though. He could have been captured. Like Godric.
Turning away from the painful memory he focused on the trees around him. There was a faint rustling of undergrowth and a small black blur shot out of the brush and up his leg, chittering energetically. Laughing affectionately, Ithran paused for a moment to let the flying squirrel settle himself. He needed to get to Sirith, back to the friends he'd made there. The world was dangerous for all Vagabonds now, and especially so for Vindicators, and he would have to take care if he was to get there without being caught.
With a sigh he kept walking, one hoof in front of the other down the ancient road.
Word Count: 384