my shadow tilts its head at me,
spirits in the dark are waiting.
Go figure. Rhonan, actually serving a kingdom. Hell must have frozen over. But very slowly, the Valley was growing on him. Enough that it actually upset him (just a hair, he’s never really all that upset) that there were so few horses living in it. Enough that he just threw himself into the army even though he didn’t have half a clue how to fight, but it seemed more intuitive than talking, than all that crap about politics and diplomacy and being nice. Not that he intends to be mean, necessarily, but just that he doesn’t have enough social graces to know the damn difference.
Or care. He also just can’t be bothered. There’s that too.
The Valley is pathetically quiet, and so here he is. It’s easy enough for him to get here now that he’s mastered the finer points of teleporting in shadows. There are always shadows somewhere near enough to where he needs to be, and so one minute he’s in the Valley, and the next he’s in the Field.
Pop.
He grins slightly, thinking of Ana. Pop pop pop. Then he shakes his head, because now is not the time to be thinking of Ana, and then he plunges into the field.
Here’s the thing about Rhonan’s recruiting tactic. He doesn’t have one. So when he spots the stallion off in the corner, he goes that way, because it’s the first horse he sees. He stops far enough away for it to be considered polite, though more because he doesn’t like being that close to others than because he’s being polite, before saying “Rhonan, from the Valley.”
rhonan.