Phoenix Maplewood the right to rise luminous

for @Cry :-)

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He is remiss to leave behind the hot springs, having relished for as long as he could in their warmth, in the soothe of his wound that if not for the care of a young medic apprentice might very well have been his death. Valtamr did not realize it at the time, younger and reckless as he’d been — an eager legionnaire to impress his commander, his king. The ruined flesh and ache that gives him a reprieve in the summer months (though not of the limp, mind, just the pain) will never go away; and though he has learned how to mask it when the agony does not flare the ugly, ruined flesh will always give his disadvantage away. He heads North from the hot springs and finally acknowledges that he needs a rest when he reaches a forest of maples and birches, the smell sweet as he drinks it in. His leg is stiff and it begs him for recovery time. He has long since acknowledged that he will never again have the stamina he once held as a younger man: that he could not cover the distance he once could in a day, or night. The morning sun is warm and sets the canopy above in a golden halo as he shrugs between two maple trees, careful to avoid the sweet sap they seeped. He seeks a water source by instinct and when he comes across what is seeking he acquiescences to the demands of his leg as he settles down upon his haunches and then lowers onto his belly in a sphinx-like position with a low grunt, shifting his weight so his left leg may have it’s reprieve as he bows his head and laps from the water.

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