Silverlight Terrace one, two princes

— lonelier than a patriarch labeled liar.

the pads of his paws are split, raw, thick with salt and old blood, and still he walks. aimless. left behind by the bounds of time, forgotten by the sharp maw of a harsh father and abandoned by a weak mother. yet, he is nothing if not loyal.

carrying their name into the ash he steps upon now, even despite their foolery.

the young hunter climbs one of the long slopes with burning legs and ribs yawning wide beneath his scar-marked, tousled fur. moving with a natural ease through the rippling of silver grass stretching around him, and that chiseled head of his turns upon a swivel.

dull eyes searching, searching, still.