i am the mace, the map, the fall and the high
He should find it uncomfortable that so many remember this kingdom so easily as the one his grandmother ruled, yet he does not. He’d never intended to follow in her footsteps, and yet here he is, ruler of the same land she had ruled. But he is not nearly self-conscious enough for it to bother him. He is his own man, regardless of what blood runs through his veins. She had walked her path, but the one he walks now is vastly different.
It’s Rune that alerts him to the presence of another in his land. It’s a failing as a ruler perhaps, but he has never patrolled his borders like so many of the others do. But then, he has always found the extreme overprotectiveness of arbitrary lines drawn in dirt laughable. He has never respected those imaginary barriers, so why should he imagine others would? If someone has designs on his kingdom, it’s not like those lines will stop them.
No, he has always found his time far better spent doing things that matter to him more than policing his borders.
The large raptor’s cry heralds his arrival as he nears the mare making her way through the moors. He recognizes her, of course, despite never having met her. Casimira. He would be a very poor ruler indeed if he could not recognize his counterparts. Mist swirls around his pale legs as he strides across the damp heather, his vibrant blue eyes alight with curiosity. His grandmother’s blue eyes, anyone who knew her might say. But to Reave, they are his alone.
“If you’re here to admire the views,” he offers by way of greeting, a wicked grin kicking up the corners of his lips, “you have picked a bad day for it.”
@Casimira