Travel with little purpose. It led him to a field. He'd hoped its openess would grant easy access to fruitful tools for a freshly made nomad. Looming anxiety was the only thing given. Any and all eyes were free to see his weakness on full display. Hiro scoured the snowfield for such audiences he feared as he crept through.
he had some blood-intimacy to territories north of where he faced now. he didn't entertain the reminders when they annexed whatever one-track idea he played out, placing it in the front of his mind.
to keep moving.
he chanced upon a lonely pioneer, a nomad with no tools. the stag was aware of the swordsman's weaknesses, but he didn't show it. the man made his presence known with a crunch of snow.
an unassuming gaze clocked straight ahead.
The grating crunch of snow aletered Hiro to another presence on the field. A man with stories to tell through scars. He does not ask of them, nor thinks of it. He's heard enough battle stories from the company he drew to fill a dozen books.
Though their initial silence is a a stray away from a rountine they'd grown to live by, their averted gaze is script.
But it is only for a moment.
A stubborn flame Hiro had long to snuff out was hestitantly nurtured. He willed himself to rise his icy stare without outside command.
Do you know where cattle roam?
the nomad called in guarded tone.
"nein."
durmal and flat as the snowfall around them. he picks himself up, a starkly imposing gait across the ice. the stag felt he had nothing to fear. did they?
perhaps he and this nomad could stalk this cattle together. he thinks his vater would know, and drowns that admission quickly.