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“I hate you both,” Tristan mumbled, lifting the pillow off his face and throwing it in Thoth’s direction. He attempted to prise the vaporeon from his chest as he sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. The Prince’s brown hair protruded in all directions and he made it worse as ran his fingers through it wearily. “What the hell do I want to go to Apeliote’s Island for? And why do I want to go there during the God forsaken hours of the morning?” Celidon had retreated into the nearest corner so that he could watch without interfering or getting in the way and his eyes followed his fairy as the teenager threw back his bed covers. The carpet tickled the soles of Tristan’s feet as he pushed himself into a standing position and began to stretch some of the stiffness out of his shoulders.

He stopped, his gaze fixed upon the clothes on his bed. One of the prince’s eyebrows perked upwards and he turned his face slowly towards Thoth. “What do I look like to you?” he asked, nodding back at the clothing, a little of his usual teasing humour creeping into his manner, “a court jester?” Tristan reached out and picked up the trousers and the shirt that his friend had dragged out of the wardrobe. The colours clashed terribly, and he wasn’t even sure how his friend had found that particular top since it looked to be a couple of sizes too short. Bundling it back into the wardrobe, he pulled out another of a less offensive hue before turning his attention to the boots. “Thoth,” he sighed, the corner of his mouth lifting in a smirk, “these are riding boots. Unless you have aquatic horses, I think I might need a pair more suited to walking.”

Having located the correct pair of boots, Tristan pulled off his night shirt over his head, unabashed. As he had transitioned into puberty, his daily training sessions had begun to build the muscle on his limbs and tighten his stomach. He was longer limbed than his father, and more elegantly built, but the royal tailors had done their work well, and the shirt fitted perfectly. The prince refrained from changing his underwear. He’d seen Thoth’s room. He was in no position to judge. Pulling on his trousers he hopped across the room and collected his sword belt from its hook on the opposite wall, strapping it in place around his waist before lifting his sword down from its mount upon the wall. Finally, he collected his dagger from the dressing table, attached it to the belt and sat back down on the bed in order to pull on his boots.

“All right,” he said, clapping his hands together whilst fixing Thoth with a searching look, “are you going to tell me what’s going on now? You wake up in the middle of the night with an itch that could only be satisfied by a spot of pirate hunting?” He grinned, flashing white teeth, “or is there more to it than that?”

photography by Dominic’s pics | Mark Cutler at flickr.com





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