i am the mace, the map, the fall and the high
He rarely considers the legacy he had been handed when he had taken Nerine at the tender age of two. The legacy carried by his grandmother and her grandmother before that. Generations of his lineage had held this throne. Many might consider it fate, him sitting on this ancient seat of power. Reave never had. If anything, it is nothing more than a testament to the power of genetics.
His restless soul often leads him beyond the boundaries of Nerine. Even so, no matter how often he wanders, he always returns. If he were a more introspective sort, he might have tried to pinpoint the reasons and overcome them. But he is not. He doesn’t like to think about the nightmare that had trapped him here for eons. He only knows he must prove time and again how false it had been.
He could have left, never to be bothered by it again, but stubborn pride had kept him from it. For all he could not stay still, he has never run from his problems. No, he is far more prone to running into problems he should stay out of.
Rune is ahead of him as Reave crosses the border back into his kingdom. The air is crisp against him, a stiff breeze ruffling the thick winter coat he had grown to contend with the North’s harsher climate. But he loves it, even when ice clings to his bones and frost peppers his whispers until he looks like nothing so much as an ancient prophet.
The eagle is the one who warns him he has a visitor. He might have left them alone as he often does with those who come to this land without devious intent, but something draws him in instead. The potential of a future beyond those he usually gleans from visitors. So he shifts his course, approaching the mare with a lazy grace that declares his casual intent. When he has reached a conversational distance, he greets her with an engaging smirk. “If you’re here to admire the scenery, I would be happy to give you a tour of the best vistas.”
@Bardot