Word Count » +3
He had taken the silver mare from the barn, seeking to try her for the first time since Larkspur had brought the creature back from the trading port in Freetown. The docks had supplied him well, this year - In spite of some misadventure between this Protege and the slaves he had bought from the slave trader, Solomon, the rest of their purchases had arrived in good form. Salsola had plenty of rare and, in some instances, simply bizarre items to show for its first successful trading trip, and the silver mare was just one of them.
Sirius had named the horse Chairo di Luna, light of the moon. The name was fitting in many ways, for not only was the equine splendidly colored, but it floated above the ground in each pace, barely jostling him at all from the worn leather saddle. Thus it was with a surprising amount of pleasure that the Thistle King set off.
He rode east, keeping to the scented paths that crisscrossed the entirety of Salsola. His land was a treacherous one, dangerous to the unwary traveler, but the monarch rode through it with the ease of a man at mastery with his own kingdom. He kept the mare to a walk, urging her to a smooth trot only once they reached the border.
The horse was not his only new accompaniment. From a pouch strapped oh-so-carefully about the man's lean waist came a chirping, a cheeping, a general peeping of sound so curiously sweet and enticing that it seemed paradoxical, coming as it did from the direction of the brooding Boss. The Revlis man was not a figure who put up with much general sweetness in his life, so it was amusing to find him so carefully parenting the small hatchling, snuggled within the wool-lined patch. However, his generosity was extended purely due to the nature of the fowl - It would soon reveal its true nature as a splendid peacock, a beautiful and proud creature not unlike the Thistle King himself.
A strange scent laced the wind. The mare caught it first, her nostrils flaring, and prettily cupped ears lifting from ivory mane to hear the distant sound of hoof-fall. With a sharp and dangerous glint to his acidic olive eyes, Sirius scowled, guiding the mare with a squeeze of his thighs in the direction of the familiar smell. When the woman and her own steed came at last into view, the Revlis man sat heavily in the saddle, easing his mount to a halt. A rogue breeze combed through silvery mane and dark locks alike as the Thistle King waited for Sage to approach.
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