Magnus’ respect was not something that he gave away freely. He had been burned too many times during his life (lives), and he knew better than to simply throw it at the ground of just anyone. It was too easy for someone to trample it; it was too easy for someone to take it for granted. So Magnus held it close, choosing to be kind to those he met but reserving judgement until a later date. It kept things in check for him, and it helped him keep an accurate, honest view when he looked out at the world.
All of that being said, Magnus had taken a liking to Offspring the first time they met. He had recognized a kindred spirit in the stallion of coal—feeling the weight of his strength and resolve and finding it worthy. At the time, he had wished that Offspring had been the one to wear the crown in the Gates. It would have been far easier to stomach serving in his army then in the way that it had all gone down.
But, of course, one cannot choose the path that their life takes. One cannot command it any more than they can command the ebb of the ocean or the current of the river. And perhaps that was the first best; for if his life had not taken this path (if he had not raged at Zeik, if he had not left the kingdom, if Beqanna had not ripped away her gifts and spat them out into this new land), then he would not be here.
He would not feel this renewed purpose in his heart. He would not feel this hunger in his stomach and clear-eyed vision about what he needed to do. And he certainly would not be searching for the black warrior of the once-brotherhood. It did not take him long to find Offspring (the other not particularly difficult to pick out from a crowd) and Magnus did not waste time in making his way toward him.
“Offspring,” he kept his greeting short, nodding his heavy-jawed head. “Hell of day.”
magnus
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