[ Post a Response | Desreal ]
Posted by slv Anatole on November 8, 2008, 4:59 pm
71.42.216.66
Anatole reflects over that day in Ni’Srilan, long before he’d left, when Stelona’s cake-yellow, tiny figure had bumped against him. It had surprised him, he remembers now, that she slipped so easily against him, her half-formed sentences sweet and child-like to his war-worn ears. How he’d felt fatherly, his own golden body wrapped around her smaller yellow one, and how he’d wanted to protect her. Her accent, thick and inviting, came from a place that was wholly foreign to him and though they hadn’t said much more that day, he’d silently agreed to stay with her; he wanted to watch over her.
He remembered first meeting her with Stelios, outside the cave, when he’d been bright with Fire and hadn’t known she’d be there. Stelios had cursed him then, for the trouble he’d caused, and perhaps it was the accusation in the tiger-prince’s eyes that caused him to feel wild affection for the quiet girl.
Then, he’d gone away and since his return, he’d been busy at the Krieg and absent from Ni’Srilan. He hadn’t even seen Ilium yet, his desert-flower, for their war-torn schedules never seemed to mesh. It was, in fact, a battle that drove him to Desreal now, not only to escape captivity but also to find the black-and-yellow filly, to see how she’d grown and all the ways she hated him now.
He remembered Stelios’ words – were haunted by them – and tossed his sun-streaked head in irritation. The king’s taunts had distracted him then, and had become a sort of festering wound in his mind; he could not shake the insult that Stelios used on him by uttering her name.
So he came now, to find her, when he should not have. “Stelona?” he called, fire blazing around his ankles as he waited for his small friend.3
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