War-Forged Plot 501: Crossroads

With the majority of his life lost to perpetual motion and necessity for travel, Loch’s return to Skeldr Town, albeit so far brief, had wrestled forth feelings of bittersweet nostalgia first and near crippling claustrophobia second. For him to fear the capitol and home he all but abandoned more than the purpose of their convening, to be wracked with bone-deep dread that he might be prompted to stay for a period longer than he’d initially presumed, were all things even he found inexplicably amusing and, in many ways, pathetic.

Being sent instead on another trip, even to the devastated Holmsa, was a relief that purged all previous cause for worry, as Loch could not help his appreciation for any and all time spent out-of-doors and away from densely enclosed city streets. Though his aging body may ache in ever worsening protest with each passing season he spent on the move, he could think of nothing greater than the distinct sensation of freezing his lungs with frigid Onean air and the thrill of fighting though another biting winter that never failed to numb him from ear to hoof. A definitive reminder that, for him, relinquishing himself to idle domesticity - or inactivity of any sort - would rush him ever closer to his already inevitable end.

After so much time spent during this trek a quiet observer, the spark of conversation was enough to draw him from his distant musings and, turning his attention away from the horizon and the unknowns beyond, he chose once more not to speak, but to listen. To Colborn. To Irileth. A fond smile pulled the corners of his lips as his softened gaze flitted between one companion to the next. To Sif. To Gunne. To Lark, and even Hira. Truly, he missed this. This sense of camaraderie, however small.

He savored the moment, knowing the pleasantries he currently second-hand enjoyed were all assured to fade as soon as the group reached their destination.

He cherished the snow. A quiet, gentle, however constant company upon this journey.

"How much further is this damned village?"

And he yearned for nothing more than his traveling companions to become like the flurries falling from the sky. Sif and Irileth were no strangers to the Raider, but he found his memories of them far less irritating than what was before him today: their taunts like flies to his hide despite not truly being directed toward him. Yet stone faced was the stallion and whatever displeasure he felt was hidden beneath the stoic mask he donned. He did not feel the camaraderie Loch so relished in. Once upon a time he may have called these War-Forged legends friends - or perhaps the closest he'd ever come to the sort. But time, like ice, made him numb. It was this disconnect that had Gunne drifting toward the most agreeable company of all; solitude. He hung away from the rest of the group, close enough to hear them and generally be associated with should someone see the travelers, but undoubtedly distant. Tired eyes regarded only the ground just before his hooves found it, but every now and then they'd find another soul. Once or twice he found himself observing the newest War Lord, and once they locked eyes.

She'd find no approval within his gaze, but nothing against her either. Judgement had yet to be passed within Gunne's eyes. Of course, as any War-Forged raised stallion would, the Raider felt hesitation within his gut at the thought of a mare holding such a rank. Yet the frost of the years turned Gunne ultimately uncaring. Her sex hadn't much to do with his apprehension - he simply had yet to be convinced of her prowess. He supposed she didn't need his approval. What could the old man do to defy her? His loyalty to the herd reigned above all else regardless, and he was sure it was under her lead that he'd give his life to his people. But if Hira wanted some sort of favor from him, it would be a long time coming - and such spelled the look he gave her upon their eyes meeting.

He did not hold her stare for long. He was content to exist as he did now, unacknowledged and silent, until they reached the ruins. His name nearly caused the Titan to flinch and it took a moment for him to realize what had been asked him. She wished to know what the last two decades had held for him? He supposed it would be quite the conversation piece. Should he start with how he indirectly caused the death of his best friend? Gunne was sure it'd be easy to recall, for her moans of pain constantly haunted what silence he could find. Perhaps skipping to the murder of his son would suffice - how the wolves tore him apart, their teeth hot knives to butter upon his throat. He knew Irileth wanted to hear none of this. Questions such as the one she posed never wished for the truth. They all had one single socially acceptable answer, and that is what Gunne gave to her.

"I have been fine, unfortunately doing little more than growing older," he smiled a blatant lie, swinging his head so he may regard her in his single seeing eye as he did so, before letting the gesture fade and his eyes find the ground once more.