twinkle, twinkle, little star; any

[magnus]

— find what you love and let it kill you —

Peace was indeed a funny thing—and something Magnus had not felt in a long time.

For the last several years, his life had been thrown into turmoil. From the war brewing on the horizon to the way he had been yanked into a magical prison and then spit out again. To the reckoning that had shattered everything to the weight of trying to successfully lead a land into stability and, yes, peace. A dream that seemed further and further removed from reality with every single day that passed.

It wasn’t a dream that he was willing to give up on yet though. So he bent to the weight of the yoke and shouldered it. He would work himself to the bone if it meant that he could drag them just an inch closer to the idea of a peaceful, stable land—and that started with filling it first. So he did what he always did and made his way to the field, picking up the rhythm of an old life that no longer fit right.

The field was not the field he remembered: it did not bustle with activity; the recruiters did not share stories of lands he recognized; nothing was the same. Still, he enjoyed the motions of it. He enjoyed getting to meet new faces and greet them to Beqanna or help them find some sort of purpose. He enjoyed the act of helping strangers move toward the next chapter of their life, wherever that might be.

So he didn’t hesitate to make his way toward the mare, grinning despite himself for her antics in the water. It was refreshing to see someone be so relaxed and at home here—everything recently had been so doom and gloom. He approached just as she was lowering herself to the ground and he nickered lightly in a friendly greeting. “Hello,” one corner of his mouth lifted into a crooked smile. “It is a pleasure to see someone enjoying the field so much although you must be cold now.” He certainly was.

“My name is Magnus. How are you doing on a fine day like this?”

magnus