The smell of the Jungle comes carried upon the back of the dawn-winds that stroked his shadow-black skin and whispered its discovered treasures into his tufted ear. He had neither seen nor sought Lagertha or her Amazons since the end of the War of Ravens – mostly out of respect to give his allied kingdom time to recuperate and salve their wounds. The Amazons were proud, too proud – some old tongues would say, and the Nightwalker had known too many Jungle Queens not to know better than to jostle their pride by coming knocking when their door wasn’t all the way on its hinges. But the other part, well, that was more personal – he had too much veneration for Lagertha to lie to her for his son.
The draft steps into the sky with an ease that is unnatural for a creature of his size, the glow of a Deserts’ dawn casting a bloodied hue across his flesh when he settles in the sand before her. Although the black mare is a stranger to the king, she carries the scent of years of fidelity with her. A dragon-wing unfurls from his great side, welcoming her across the border, “Welcome to the Deserts,” he thunders, a giant’s grin crossing his lips despite the inevitability of the question that was surely to come, “and who might you be?”
Is Rhy here?
.
vanquish
black king of the deserts
