42nd of spring, 513 a.v.
noon
Syna had reached her throne when he made the decision. It did not come from a place of total logic, or from a place of recklessness—more from a place of need, really. He wasn’t quite sure just where this need came from, but neither was he sure if it was something he was meant to know. All he did know was that the need was there, deep and powerful, and that it was a need that could not be satisfied as long as he remained here. No, it was time to move, to seek.
It was time to do.
He had been sitting sleepily in the grass, doing little but stare at the sky, but no longer. He sat up very suddenly, startling the small rabbit that had ventured near to dine on delicate new shoots, and a moment he was on his feet, walking purposefully to the west.
There was no one for him to inform or request permission from; he had no family, no one that he was accountable to—his solitude, for everything that it was, left him responsible for no one but himself, and for that he was thankful.
He strode into the small clearing, letting loose a ke-ke-ke-ke for the falcon’s attention. Though he wasn’t sure how much interest she would have in what he had to say, it seemed appropriate for her to be present. He swooped to snatch half a hare’s carcass; perhaps an offer of food would interest her, at least.
The presence of one had been requested, and the hunter turned for the other. He did not hiss, as he usually did; here, now, the slave’s name would be best. He took a moment to align his mouth, then attempted it—though it came out as more of a hiss and growl than a word, anyway.
“Hssthlrrr,” he rasped. “Come.”
noon
Syna had reached her throne when he made the decision. It did not come from a place of total logic, or from a place of recklessness—more from a place of need, really. He wasn’t quite sure just where this need came from, but neither was he sure if it was something he was meant to know. All he did know was that the need was there, deep and powerful, and that it was a need that could not be satisfied as long as he remained here. No, it was time to move, to seek.
It was time to do.
He had been sitting sleepily in the grass, doing little but stare at the sky, but no longer. He sat up very suddenly, startling the small rabbit that had ventured near to dine on delicate new shoots, and a moment he was on his feet, walking purposefully to the west.
There was no one for him to inform or request permission from; he had no family, no one that he was accountable to—his solitude, for everything that it was, left him responsible for no one but himself, and for that he was thankful.
He strode into the small clearing, letting loose a ke-ke-ke-ke for the falcon’s attention. Though he wasn’t sure how much interest she would have in what he had to say, it seemed appropriate for her to be present. He swooped to snatch half a hare’s carcass; perhaps an offer of food would interest her, at least.
The presence of one had been requested, and the hunter turned for the other. He did not hiss, as he usually did; here, now, the slave’s name would be best. He took a moment to align his mouth, then attempted it—though it came out as more of a hiss and growl than a word, anyway.
“Hssthlrrr,” he rasped. “Come.”
