The distance the pair has travelled is great, and yet, even so, the ebony stallion carries himself well - with grace and dignity always.Keeping pace with the taller, leaner male at his side, they cut across unknown terrain, though there is little apprehension in the majestic lines of the andalusian. He fairly reeks of confidence that is not always quiet, though it is not the kind born from arrogance, it is certainty, hardwon on fields of a dozen bloody battles.
Kheldar, Crown Prince of a great, sprawling Kingdom that lay far behind them, not once turned to look back. Even long after they’d crossed into lands that ceased being familiar. All the way to the distant coastline, where the pair plunged dauntless into the foaming sea. And on, they journeyed. Kheldar did not look back, but he thought of them often, as he always did when he and his Guard Captain journeyed abroad. Of his father, so prideful and set in his ways. Of his mother, vain and difficult to please. His younger brother, forever complaining about how he was drowning in Kheldar’s shadow, but really, it was his own hubris. The bright spark of his royal household was his beautiful younger sister, rebellious and spirited, reckless in all the ways Kheldar himself had once been. (She had yet to grow out of it, and in his heart of hearts, Kheldar prayed to whatever gods there were that she never would.)
Unlike his companion, so subtle in his astute observations, the dark stallion turned his head this way and that, eagerly drinking in every feature of this unknown landscape. It seemed to be one of a cluster of islands, cast together in the sea, a constellation in the waves, still mourning the loss of one of its own, reclaimed to the dark in a time long before either of the wayward warriors had ever set foot here, though even the largest, with its towering mountain Peak, seemed small in comparison to the realm they had left long behind.
One, night-dark ear twitched at the sound of the white crested stallion’s drawl. "You tell me, Rosto," the Princeling quipped back, the r rolling in his subtle accent, relaxed and informal in a way he only was when they were alone. "Have we come far enough to earn a brief respite?" A crooked smile hooked up one corner of his mouth. "After all, this campaign from our King is evidently so urgent that he deigned not wait ‘til morning to assign me to it himself," soft brown eyes slid to settle on his truest companion’s face. "And bid us leave post haste in the dead of night." He is quiet for half a dozen strides more, and then slows, stops entirely, tilting his head toward Rosto. "I’ll follow your lead, my Captain."
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