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WARNING: This thread contains material exceeding the general board rating of PG-13. It may contain very strong language, drug usage, graphic violence, or graphic sexual content. Reader discretion is advised. |
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He had told Enkiel to ride ahead and wait at the city. It had been a long ride west and he felt trepidation building, burning, in his chest. There was something unfamiliar about it and Ezekiel had no idea what to make of such a sensation. Deep in his gut a weight, cold and heavy, twisted. It had been easier to talk to Myrika. The drugs were wearing thin and so he smoked as he rode, lacing his body with opium, lacing it with cannabis, lacing it with the things he needed to chase away the aches and pains and the nausea that grew in his throat as the river was left behind. Below him the red horse shifted, moving at the easy trot that had carried them away from his kingdom and crown, and turned him back into a no one. The once Aquila liked this better.
The coyote slipped from Viggo’s back not half a mile from the borders. He hesitated a beat and then pulled off the bow, the quiver, and even the bag that carried all of his most treasured possessions. Viggo snorted and shoved his head towards the scarred man, and in that cross way he always spoke, argued with him. Ezekiel reassured him and sent him off with a promise of coming before dawn. He turned, unarmed, nude save for the necklace at his throat and the ring on his hand and traveled with the well-placed steps of a master woodsman.
He slowed only once, and that was to wash the scent of Inferni from his pelt in the smaller river. It was the last and final thing to do to cut his ties to the place. With only the scent of smoke and his own musk clinging to him, Ezekiel crossed the borders of the Thistle Kingdom on his own two legs and moved swiftly through the night. It was a singular animal he hunted, and a dangerous one at that.
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