Northstar Vale i used to be gossamer and silk

the welcome offered to him was warmly received with a respectful bow of tzenno's head. thank you. voice rises in a breathy acceptance to accompany the bow. there is a gust of something in his chest, though tzenno does not know what to name it. uncertainty? nervousness? he did not know how to be anything other than what he was: disgraced prince, lonely rōnin ...both weighty in their own way. reneian empire offers him something that tastes like warm, sugary pastry, like the most decadent of freshly baked promises. tzenno isn't so sure he wants to trust it blindly, having been burned more times than he cared to admit.

there was a chance here ...at a life he never would've been allowed both as prince and samurai. something new and delightful and terrifying, all wrapped in one neat package. collision, tzenno repeats, a small twitch of his lips into a ghost of a smile as the name — strange to him given his family's naming conventions — reminds him of clay: the first empire wolf to greet him at the borders. sunflower gold gaze peers over a shoulder to study the dark mouth of the cavern he's claimed and tzenno lets out a soft, almost wistful sound.

as well as can be expected, i suppose. he responds with an errant shrug of his shoulders. everything is new. but he suspects he'll feel safest in his little cavern and that was a start. have you been with the empire long?

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