history is a vat of honey

Gideon · January 09, 2025, 11:10 AM

OOC: Please skip me, I just want it in my threadlog. <3

In spite of his brush with Isra, Gideon had led a pretty comfortable life. He had not seen the things his brother had in the mountains or known the harshness of the world like his father. The worst thing that had ever happened was the loss of his mother, and its effect on him was profound.

Previously rambunctious, talkative, and even a little jocular, Gideon had grown taciturn and introspective. Observant as always, in his own distractible way, but in a melancholic fashion rather than the eagerness of before. In time, he had realized that the strength Sun Eater promised him was not the strength he imagined it was. There would be no sharpening of teeth and skills in preparation to cut down the spotted devil that lingered in his dreams even now.

Sun Eater's strength was the strength of a great hunter, and Gideon found that caribou meat tasted like the ashes of his homeland, and he could find little pleasure in the nomadic life they carved with the Saatsine.

He followed Anselm silently to the dormant volcano where Ezra watched the goats. Gideon's gaze lingered on them, how they seemed to float effortlessly up and down the sheer mountainside, while his father and brother spoke. When Anselm asked if there was anything to retrieve, Gideon answered with a quiet, no, nothing.

He had herbs that he had idly gathered while watching caribou from afar, but there would always be more herbs. The Saatsine could keep those. They could consider it some meager payment, Gideon naively thought, for their time with them.