08-28-2020, 02:35 PM
He keeps the fairy’s words locked in his chest.
They play on loop in his head.
The only thing that occupies all that space, they crawl through his veins.
He travels down from the Mountain and heads for the meadow. He has never been, only heard of it in brief glimpses of conversation with his mother. She had offered the twins only a rough outline of the worlds within Beqanna, did not elaborate when either of the children had a question.
But he is determined to learn himself.
As determined to understand Beqanna as he is to more effectively combat their father’s undead armies. He will find a way.
His journey to the Mountain’s peak had done precious little to combat his exhaustion and he finds it compounded when he finally reaches the meadow. He doesn’t know where to start, not really. Perhaps he could have asked his mother, though she hardly seemed like someone who had ever helped anyone.
He surveys the milling bodies and drags in a long breath, ignoring the weakness in his muscles when he sinks deeper into their midsts. Rather than waste his time waiting and hoping that the right sort of animal might somehow know to come to him, he approaches the first lone figure he happens upon.
“Hello,” he says, plain, “can you help me? I am on a quest and need to speak with someone about how they have tried to protect someone and the consequences they suffered because of it.”
G R A V I T A S
