If he had known he was a marker of time to Errant, Crito would have laughed.
While the black stallion has hardly aged, the roan seems to have taken up the slack for him. His aging had been swift and substantial; his bones had become more prominent on his twentieth year, and just a few years later, the stiffness had set in. Sometimes he wonders if it has to do with the Tundra or his parents – or if the combination had been simply been a poor one. Either way, he’s always felt old. Even as a youngster in the Jungle he had felt this way (especially back then, when Scorch had been busy running around the forests and terrorizing the monkeys). He far preferred to stand and ponder, to let his mind roam instead of joining the various adventures that children partake in.
He has always been an old soul, and perhaps that’s why his body is so quick to catch up.
But as old as he normally feels – as much of a default setting as it is - he’s never felt younger than when he stands in front of Errant. The man has a way of appearing beyond time, or at least capable of controlling it on some level. Something in his eyes speaks of an ancientness that will exist long after Crito is dust beneath the earth. Or maybe that’s just how all younger siblings feel in the face of their elders. The magician returns his smile before it drops at the sight of Scorch’s bite. The roan appreciates the emotion on his behalf but he grins in a dismissive way. No harm, no foul, he seems to say without opening his mouth. It had hurt something fierce, but that is part of their sister’s charm, he supposes. Or lack thereof.
Errant wonders about the Falls but the diplomat has no answers for him. He hadn’t taken part in that trip, and if he had, his recovery time likely would have increased. They will make a good ally in that they are quiet. Lack of numbers means that they will rely on the Tundra for everything, perhaps they will even rack up a debt to be cashed in whenever the cold kingdom felt like it. Whereas the Amazons were a force to be reckoned with (and a natural ally, he supposes) the Falls can be easily manipulated and swayed. He’s never been to the famous waterfalls, but if they secure an alliance, he thinks he will make the trip.
Talk turns from business to personal matters. It’s clear that Errant hasn’t expected anything more from their less-than-affectionate relationship – even looks like he tenses in preparation to move off – and Crito is unable to hide an amused smile. Why wouldn’t he ask how the black stallion is doing? Isn’t that a natural question for one’s brother? Their family is like this, though. Their family had been like this, built and based on blood rather than emotional connection. It’s never sat well with Crito (and quite obviously not with Scorch with her dam – and damn - issues) so he tries, for once. Errant does too, confessing to bringing Lea back from the dead.
“Oh,” is all the old stallion can manage at first. His face is not so controlled as his brother’s, but he quickly fixes it up into one of approval. He doesn’t really understand how it is possible (and really doesn’t want to know, either) but he’s glad it brings the man some happiness. Even if it doesn’t show on his face, he realizes it does make Errant happy to have done so. Why else would one drag up old skeletons? Pardon the grisly image of one’s lover. “So did you leave her there or is she on her way up north?” He wonders if the once-dead feel the cold or if it just feels normal to them. He also wonders what she looks life, if Errant’s magic is strong enough to restore as well as revive. “I’m glad for you either way. I imagine ruling can be a thankless, lonely job.” He says, glancing sideways at the blue mountains. He’s never felt loneliness himself, but for a normal, well-adjusted horse like Errant, he believes it is possible.
( c r i t o ) |
