[ What Do You Have To Say? | Ni'Srilan: The Desert ]
Posted by Inigo on January 28, 2009, 11:32 am, in reply to "After a point I just lose faith"
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“I am the victim of regime change, I am afraid. When my grandfather died and his rival took his throne I felt less than comfortable remaining. Plus, slipping on moss gets tiring quickly,” he said with a smile. “And I do not find it all too difficult to find passion in all places, they all have their particular characters, they are all worth getting to know,” and saving, too. “Why did you leave your home? It obviously wasn’t because of any desire for the destination,” he chuckled to himself as he glanced again to the dunes and watched a string of sand coming off the top of one and twisting in the wind. For the briefest of moments he allowed his heart to ached with joy, it had been so long since he had been in his heart’s home. Canton could never be to him what Leviah was, or Ni’Srilan, rather.
When Huyana became uncomfortable, Inigo became all the more so. A trifling of sand scattered from his hooves as he shifted his weight, leaning back on his haunches. He tucked his nose towards his chest, arching his thick baroque neck in the process, telescoping the base of it. Held breath lifted his shoulder. His pupils contracted as his nostrils dilated In subtle ways, his feathers had ruffled.
Then she spoke.
His mind echoed with the sound of a tree cracking with the sound of thunder under the solid thud of hooves. It would be just like that, with blood for sap and sap for blood. She was a traveler, no one here knew her, no one here would miss her, no one need know she was ever here. The gales would blow and wash her hoof prints from the sand, cover her every trace in the great heaving of the living desert, and make the world forget. The desert would protect him, as he planned to protect it, he reasoned with gasping desperation. But he remained rooted. His joints moaned for being so still. It seemed the wind had stopped. His lungs suffered for breath.
Time elapsed.
He couldn’t bring himself to commit the violence Nasrullah would have condoned. He should have, who knew what she had seen. It was all he could do to keep from turning tail and running, when he spoke his words were stern and clipped. “Oh, how interesting,” he almost shuddered. “They day grows late, and I should find this land’s ruler so I can let them know of my arrival and put myself in their service. It was nice to talk to you; I hope you need not stay in Ni’Srilan longer than you wish.” When he turned to leave, Inigo made himself walk slowly.
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