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Outside Grimsand, Eliza and Captain Raaf pace alongside their troops. No beasts lurk upon the desert sands, slain by their hands. It’s a matter of time before the group reappears, but until then, they wait. And wait. Where are their comrades? Are they hurt? Should they--
“Ah, you’re safe!” Eliza greets the battle-worn travelers as they exit the ruins. She counts the number of people and one leopard as they pass. “Wait, are there--?”
“More?” H’aanit finishes. “Aye, a General Lenaar of the Marsalim guard, and his men remaineth inside. Our Olberic, as well. ‘Tis done.”
“Done?” Eliza asks.
“Redeye hath been slain by our hand,” H’aanit answers with a resolute voice.
“By your hand, H’aanit,” Primrose adds. “The final blow was yours. No need to downplay that.”
“Yeah,” Alfyn says wearily, rubbing his shoulder. “Never seen anythin’ like it. Wish I got more energy to praise ya to the heavens, but hope ya get what I mean.”
Therion nods along. “That was a lot. We’re still here though,” he simply states. Too exhausted for wise jokes, that will have to do.
“That we are, my friend,” Cyrus offers a pat on Therion’s back, pleased to find no resistance. “We managed out here, save for this heat. Even my ice magic reached its limits.”
“You nearly fainted, Professor!” Ophilia chides. “I had to heal you with one hand and bash a scorpion with the other!”
“And a wonderful job you did!”
“Don’t forget my sidestepping skill!” Tressa’s energy permeates the desert heat. “Swept everyone right off their feet, in a good way! And you should’ve seen Olberic go at it! Whatever that tall thing was, it hit like a boulder, but it looked like nothing to him!”
Muttering sounds from within the ruins, and Olberic himself beside General Lenaar and his men.
“I could hear your voice from afar, my friend,” Olberic laughs. “After all of that, you still have your energy. I respect that.”
“Captain!” Captain Raaf greets his superior in relief. “Oh, thank goodness. When I fled to tell the grim news, I--!”
General Lenaar holds out a gentle hand. “Take pause, Captain. The fault lies with me for underestimating the task at hand. The beast is slain. Our troops live to see the city, and their loved ones. That is what matters.” He offers a rare smile. “You did well.”
“Ah!” Captain Raaf says, flustered. “Thank you for the praise, sir! I will remember it.”
H’aanit watches the reunion with a heavy heart. Will the reunion with her Master, should it occur, feel the same?
“Hey, everything all right?” Tressa notes the gloomy air around them. “I mean, you did all fight a demon - was it a demon? Sure sounded like it, based on the descriptions.” She feigns a shiver. “Creepy.”
“Hey, we can agree on something,” Therion says, gaining some of his snark back. Tressa sticks out her tongue. He returns the gesture.
“I am unsure, in truth,” H’aanit admits. “ ‘Demon’ seemeth wrong for what we hath fought. The word thou usen, Tressa... it suiteth it well, indeed, but ‘twas more beyond that. Best we explaineth in front of the King.”
“Sounds serious,” Tressa answers. “I believe you, though. Everyone ready, or do we still need a breather?”
“Let’s get outta this heat,” Alfyn says. Everyone shares the general message. The formation is similar on the way back to the city, with the weariest members protected by soldiers on all sides. No beasts leap upon them, likely taking shelter from the sun. It’s a quiet trek, silence broken as they pass the city gates.
“Is that…!”
“They’ve returned!”
“Even the ones from before?”
“Father lives!? Let me see him!”
Townsfolk hover near the entrance and atop the high walls. And they arrive: the Marsalim guard, the Knights Ardante, the eight travelers, and the now-famous snow leopard of the desert. All of them, relatively unscathed.
“A difference, this is,” H’aanit remarks as cheers erupt among the townsfolk. Several rush forward and hug their loved ones, a chorus of “beloved!” and “father!”, relief in their voices. H’aanit holds such moments close, aware that dangerous hunts result in vastly different endings, or ends of lives. Thank the heavens.
Cheering persists as they cross the main courtyard. A breathless King Khalim greets them midway.
“Oh, brave warriors! I heard the news just as I concluded my meeting and sought to meet you at the gates! But you’re all here now - wonderful! Now come, let us talk further inside.”
They relay the past events in a mostly organized fashion. The excursion through the sands, the journey into Grimsand, Redeye - the information tumbles out. That’s what H’aanit believes, regarding her own words. Formalities are difficult, especially when one is tired.
“Redeye is slain,” she ends her statement, taking a deep breath as she begins another. “But there is another part, Majesty. Thou must hearen this.”
“Go on.”
She turns toward Alfyn. “Dost thou wisheth to explaineth?”
Alfyn thinks for a moment, then steps forward. “Mind if ya fill in details, in case I miss somethin’? Still processin’ it all.”
H’aanit nods, prompting him with a gesture to start.
“All right, well. We were throwin’ everythin’ we had at Redeye, and then it… it started crawlin’ toward me. Just me. It didn’t stop.” He points at his once-wounded shoulder. “Got me right here, and I thought that was it… until it wasn’t. But then, it--it healed me.”
“Healed you?” King Khalim says, his eyes wide. “I have never heard of such a phenomenon.”
“Yeah, well.” His voice dies down. Alfyn looks at H’aanit again, melancholy in his eyes.
“I shall continue,” H’aanit takes the hint. “Stoppen there, it dost not. It… hath spoke to us. Begged. A most distorted voice, but we hath understood. It hath asked for us to kill it. And slayeth it, we didst. ‘Twas free, by its word.”
King Khalim lets out a long exhale. “This is a lot to take in. Not that I doubt your words, of course, but what we have learned here is beyond any of our current understanding. What kind of beast was this?”
“I am unsure, Majesty, though I ponderen if ‘beast’ is the correct term. ‘Tis a mystery, this Redeye. All we knoweth is that there is a truth we needest aid to revealeth. With that, couldst we asketh for thy support?”
King Khalim hums. “This is a mystery I am eager to delve into, as well.” He holds himself a little taller, his tone resolute after a moment to ponder. “Very well, my support is yours. I shall work with local officials to decipher these findings, and where gaps in knowledge appear, we shall fill them.”
“Respectfully, Your Majesty, my research may help you fill such gaps, should they come up. The subject of forbidden magic has occupied my mind, as of late. It has propelled me into my travels, in the first place. Worthwhile travels, I must add.” Cyrus smiles at this statement. “Perhaps we may compile our findings, and move from there.”
“Ah! That would be most helpful, Professor. When you are well-rested, we will arrange the discussion.”
Cyrus bows his head, and the King shifts his attention to the group.
“Given everything that has transpired, brave warriors, I wish to express my gratitude, on behalf of our humble kingdom. Only the greatest of banquets shall do to commemorate your feats.”
A banquet? That seems rather large and somewhat frightening.
“With due respect, Majesty, a large gathering raiseth some concern. Mine concern,” H’aanit starts, stumbling over her words a bit. “I am... not used to formal events such as one thou proposeth, and neither is Linde. Couldst we reconsideren? I wisheth not to imposen, if this is a tradition of thine abode, but ‘tis mine feeling.”
“Is that so?” King Khalim inquires. “Well, I am glad you brought your concerns to light, H’aanit. Your comfort is most important, and I do not wish to push that boundary. We can adapt. Let me think… ah! Marsalim is renowned for our festivities! The focus would shift to the city as a whole, rather than the focused attention of a banquet. Perhaps this is more agreeable?”
“Shouldst they involveth the people, that wouldst be best,” H’aanit says. “The people canst partaken in celebration, and we all may enjoyen the time.”
“It is settled then,” he affirms. “I shall make arrangements for the celebration. I hope you all may stay long enough to enjoy it with us, but for now, please rest here for as long as you need. It is the least we can offer as thanks for your aid, truly.”
“We thanken thee for thy hospitality.”
The king’s audience concludes after an exchange of bows. H’aanit turns back, watching King Khalim grasp the guards’ hands, then the generals’ hands, conveying his gratitude for their safe return.
“I worried greatly for you, General.”
“Your Majesty…”
The pain in the voice subsides. “You are home now. That is what matters.”
“And I am most grateful to be here.”
An honest man, he is.
The group heads down the familiar hall to their quarters. In various states of exhaustion, they bid each other temporary farewells and seek comfort upon their beds.
“You all right?” Therion asks. Linde rubs her face against his leg, then heads inside H’aanit’s room first.
H’aanit remains outside the door, pondering. “I worryen about Master, even though he is more than capable. I supposen there is little use in hurrying without rest. I canst envision the look upon his face, shouldst we comen forth in exhaustion.”
That’s if he is free from the curse. What if, by some cruel stroke of fate, the petrified state ceased for all but him? What if he remains trapped in the forest, feet forever grounded, forever the hunted? What if?
“Yeah, and he’s got his wolf companion, right?”
“Aye, Hägen. He remaineth at Master’s side in that forest.” A sigh. “I worryen about him, too.”
“They’re tough. They’ll be all right.”
“I hopen so. Ah, but resten, for now. Thou needest thy strength after all that hath occurred,” H’aanit finishes with a gesture.
“Yeah I guess so,” he nods. “You get some sleep, then.”
Therion leaves to rest, and H’aanit enters her own room, shutting the door silently. Linde waits nearby and yawns, her mouth wide. Primrose is already asleep, half-tucked beneath the blanket. H’aanit quietly pulls the rest of it over her shoulders, then settles on her own bed.
“Preferen the bed, Linde?”
Linde quietly hops onto the edge of H’aanit’s bed and curls into herself. H’aanit strokes her soft fur until the purring turns to snores. It’s always an endearing sight, and a sign that she, too, must rest. Worries can wait for another day. Master and Hägen would want her to be in better spirits, after all.
Several days pass, then several more. Therion wakes up to the afternoon sun, then to the clearest night sky. It’s either too early or too late, and all he can do is fall asleep again, aching muscles welcoming the extra rest. When he is awake, he joins the others in a private dining area for meals. Attendants arrive with elaborately-arranged platters of food - local staples of Marsalim. The pleasant scent of spices waft through the air, and Therion experiences a taste of the royal life. It’s kind of nice. Still, he’ll always prefer the homely atmosphere of campfires beneath the stars. That’s what it feels like. Home.
Sunlight streams through the curtains when he awakens again. With a groan, he sits up and stretches his arms, hearing a slight popping sound in his shoulder. He turns to see a mostly-made bed and a note on the bedside drawer.
“At the markets. Drink up!” he reads Alfyn’s writing. A vial of familiar cloudy liquid rests beside the note. He picks up the vial and swirls it in his hand to loosen the herbs settled on the bottom, then drinks its contents in one swift motion. He coughs lightly. It’s not completely awful, and his muscles don’t hurt as much. He’ll be sure to thank him later.
With time to spare and swirling thoughts in his head, Therion leaves their shared room. The palace halls are calm, faint sounds of townsfolk mingling in the main area. He reaches a familiar door and knocks.
“It’s me.”
A moment passes. “Comen in.”
Therion lets himself inside, quietly shutting the door behind him. H’aanit sits cross-legged on her bed. Her bow rests upon her lap, and she bundles a cloth in her hand and cleans the bow’s grip.
“Just you?” he asks, looking around.
“Aye. Primrose hath gone with Alfyn to the markets, and Linde enjoyen her play time in the river. None shall disturbeth her, like thou hast told me.”
“It’s true. As long as she’s having fun, I guess.” There’s a lull in his voice. “Anyway, you all right? I, uh… wanted to check in. After all of that.”
H’aanit understands, setting the bow aside. She moves toward the edge of the bed, the soles of her feet resting against the ground. Therion sits beside her, his legs dangling a short distance off the ground. He finds it easier to talk side-by-side. Less confrontational, yet that implies he’s here for some type of battle. There’s no battle. Just being there for a friend.
“ ‘Twas a lot. The preparations, and the battle. Redeye.” Her brow furrows at the mention, and she sighs, her shoulders lowering. “It is slain, and yet, I feelen at unease. But, ‘tis little we canst do for now, other than rest.”
“I guess. Still, it talked. Can’t really get over that. But ‘it’ wouldn’t be the right word, would it? What could it mean?”
She hums, contemplative. “We hath seen this in the midst of Cyrus’ research. Those crystals of blood, and how they hath overwhelmed their holders with forbidden power. ‘Tis our best lead. The King hath promised his aid, and I holdest confidence in his word. Looketh at how the town regardest him. ‘Tis a good sign.”
“Fair point. And Cyrus said he’ll help them look into it. He’s honest about that stuff.”
“Indeed.” She pauses. “And Alfyn? He is...”
“Doing all right, I think. There was one night where I found him on the stronghold’s roof, thinking to himself. He was out of sorts, but we started talking. Think it helped him.” A soft laugh. “Never thought I’d be the comforting type.”
“Ah, but thou art quite skilled,” H’aanit says. “I am relieved to hear this.”
H’aanit places a gentle hand over his own. Therion clasps it in support.
“And thee? Hast thou sleepen well?”
He hums, unsure. “All right, I think. Kept waking up though, like that weird time where it’s either too early or too late.”
“Ah, like mine usual time.”
“I still don’t know how you do it.”
“ ‘Tis the way of the huntress. But the past days hath been most unnatural. I oft findeth mineself in bed. ‘Tis a comfortable bed.”
“Wish we could take it back with us.”
Her soft laughter reassures him. Then she’s serious again.
“How art thine arms...? Forgetten the sight, I canst not.”
Ah, that. Therion looks down, letting go of H’aanit’s hand for a moment. He presses his fingers against his forearm, confirming that he, in fact, feels something. This wasn’t the case back in the ruins, and it…
“It scared the hell out of me. Feeling the stone move up my limbs, not able to do anything. I probably tried to put on a tough front. You got to me in time, though.”
“I wouldst never thinketh of leaving thee there,” H’aanit says with resolve. She gestures toward her mouth. “Mine apologies if I hath injured thee here.”
“Oh, that? Teeth are a bit sore, but nothing I can’t handle. And Alfyn made some medicine to help the pain, so it won’t be a problem. I’m… I’m still here. That’s what matters, right?”
“Aye. Thou art here.”
A simple answer. In many ways, he’s here, and here to stay.
They reflect on the journey into Grimsand, from its faded glyphs to the ominous atmosphere. “Creepy as hell,” followed by a quick, “indeed” in response. If it weren’t for the petrified soldiers, the risk of plunging to his doom, and a spawn from hell, Therion wouldn’t have minded searching further.
“That orange light…” H’aanit says after some time. “ ‘Twas a familiar sight. Too familiar in mine eyes.”
Therion sees the distant stare in her gaze and knows what memory she recalls. How long has it been since they fought atop those frigid mountains?
“It was a divine presence, for sure. You channeled your goddess’ power, and I channeled mine.”
He can’t forget the feeling: the adrenaline coursing through his veins, the long-dormant flame swelling within, that decisive moment of clarity. Daggers flying, eight of them, piercing through Redeye’s flesh. That screech. Then stone, unmoving. Fear.
He was so scared.
“I…” Therion starts, nearly choking on the word. He takes a deep breath. “I used it. The dagger. Plunged it into its eye, and... well.”
“The dagger… ah,” H’aanit reaches the conclusion, sympathy in her eyes. “I rememberen one sinking beneath the earth. So ‘twas the very same.”
“It’s almost poetic,” he says, a lamenting tone following his bitter laugh. “Darius wanted to be on top, throwing aside anyone who got in his way, only to sink the bottom, buried beneath the ruins.”
“And how dost thou feelen about it?”
How does he feel? The answer is not as confusing, anymore. A sign of growth, he thinks. Therion answers with less hesitation.
“I know it’s better this way. It’s just... how those he hurt, those who are still here, have to pick themselves up and try to heal. It’s hard. It hurts. Sometimes I can handle it, and other times, not so much. Wounds fester, and I have to break them again so they can heal properly. Makes me wonder why people like me have to put in this work, while he just...”
He squeezes his fingers and twists the frayed ends of his shawl. A steady weight falls upon his shoulder.
“Thou art doing well, Therion. Asketh our friends, and they canst tellen thee the same,” H’aanit reassures, rubbing his shoulder gently. “I canst speaken for them now. I am a bit better with words.”
“Yeah, you are,” he smiles a bit, relaxing. “Thanks. For everything.”
To think, he was once a solitary person - distrusting, wary, relying on his own instincts to navigate a cruel world. Now, he has a home in his other friends, and understands the value of trust and support. He’ll always have a place to call home, no matter the distance.
“If thou hast the time, caren to joineth me in town? I seeketh Linde, even if she canst tendest to herself. ‘Tis growing hotter in the day.”
“Heh, sure. Could use the exercise.”
The afternoon heat surrounds them as they leave the palace. Several townsfolk wave, even regard them as heroes as they walk past. It's not a word Therion considers for himself despite the momentous task they carried out. The people here are grateful alongside their humble king. He still finds this situation complex, but in the end, whatever Redeye was, Therion hopes they’re at rest.
A short distance away, Linde grooms herself in a patch of sunlight against the ground. Parts of her fur glisten with droplets of river water.
“Enjoyen thine time, Linde? None hath botheren thee, I hopen?”
Linde sees H’aanit and lazily swishes her long tail. H’aanit simply laughs and joins her on the ground to give belly rubs. Therion joins her. Curious eyes look toward the group, but none bother them. Most of the town understands Linde is a friendly face, and now a hero among heroes. Titles and splendor mean little as she rolls onto her side to dry her fur.
“Thanks for looking out for me,” Therion says, holding out his hand. She bumps her nose against his palm. Same old Linde. He’ll take care of her, too.
The sun grows stronger, and they leave for the pleasant shelter of the palace. Several townsfolk place decorations in the vacated place, presumably for the King’s celebrations. He wonders what’s in store.
“How aren celebrations here, from thy point of view?”
“They live up to their name,” Eliza answers. “That would mean you are staying to witness it yourself?”
“I supposen so.”
The two watch the town from the roof of the Knight Ardante’s stronghold. Ornate oil lamps stand tall as they line the main streets. Groups of dancers rehearse in the town square, twirling and tossing one another in the air. Local merchants assemble their stalls, and passing townsfolk assist in transporting their wares.
And Linde, being Linde, paddles through the river below. Others eye her curiously, while some wave happily.
Eliza stretches her arms lazily. She wears her red hair in a loose bun and casual attire in place of gleaming armor.
“ ‘Tis a homely city, Marsalim.”
“I had similar thoughts, when I first worked here,” Eliza says, looking toward Linde, who shakes excess water off her body. “The people here are humble and kind, their communal approach shaped by the harsh sands. Resources can be scarce, even with trade. I have seen how folks look out for one another, stranger or not. It is refreshing.”
Spectators cheer as a dancer lands perfectly on their feet. The performers bow and welcome another group in their place. They become the audience themselves, clapping along.
“You still seem restless. He will be all right, I am sure.”
“I know, though I still worryen.”
Eliza offers a sympathetic look. “It is in your nature.”
H’aanit watches Linde roll onto her side to let the sun dry her fur. “I wonderen what he wouldst thinketh of this city. I dost not recalleth him visiting the Sunlands often.”
“Perhaps it is the heat. It would not feel like a hunt he is accustomed to, with few places to take cover and wait out the hunt. He enjoys that aspect.”
“Aye, from the way he spendest time in the dark forests, waiting, listening. He enjoyen the silence before the strike, as I sayeth. Many holdest little patience for prolonged hunts. ‘Tis why he is considered the best.”
“I think you are on the way to claiming his title.”
“What?”
“Think about it. Names have been going around: Dragon Slayer, Stormbringer, and now, the slayer of Redeye. The last one is the reason you started your journey, and here you are.”
Here, she is. Once, she had the company of Linde and grief in her heart. Now, there are many beloved friends by her side, ones with whom she shares her struggles. They listen, and in turn, she listens. They’re all a mess, yet there’s so much love between them. From solitude to solidarity, she is truly grateful.
Something nudges her leg, purring softly. H’aanit scratches behind Linde’s ears and coos. Eliza chuckles beside her, and then she is the one cooing as Linde greets her warmly.
“Ah! Always happy to see you, dear Linde!” Eliza says, stroking her mostly dry fur. “H’aanit spoils you far too much, did you know that?”
H’aanit scoffs. “Getten thine own companion.”
“Haha, perhaps in the future. But would it be too late?”
“ ‘Tis never too late to maketh new friends.” She says it like nothing, yet it means everything.
Linde returns to H’aanit, nuzzling against her leg. She never tires of her companion’s cuteness.
“Caren for a drink in the tavern? Thou art resting - best to do so away from thy place of work, hm?”
Eliza sighs. “It is a bad habit of mine, lingering around this place. I tend to overwork myself.”
“ ‘Tis part of thy nature,” H’aanit answers with a smile. “I wouldst convinceth thee to resten, but thou are as stubborn as I.”
“Correct,” Eliza smirks. “I truly should, though.”
H’aanit shakes her head. “Thinketh upon the thought at a later time. For now, I shall treat thee.”
Townsfolk greet them on the way to the tavern, from casual waves to vocal praise. H’aanit enjoys plentiful drinks with good company, and the day ends well.
Marsalim is alight with music and merriment. Townsfolk line the lit streets in flowing, vibrant dance attire. They twirl as they reach the palace courtyard, where the main activity resides. Others appear in casual clothes, joining the festivities with eagerness. Locals, tourists, heroes - people from all walks of life are welcome in the festivities.
Therion watches from atop the city walls. He’s not used to these crowds. Not like this, at least. He finds himself fidgeting, clenching his hands, fiddling with the ends of his shawl. He’s apparently a hero now. It’s a lot. He inwardly thanks H’aanit for requesting this over a formal banquet. Less focus on their group, and more people can enjoy themselves. Seeing the nature of the city, he thinks the people would’ve celebrated, anyway.
“Found him.”
Alfyn stands tall among a cluster of people, demonstrating his Riverlands dance alongside the local instruments. Several dancers join him with their own styles, and spectators clap along to the rhythm.
“He’s in a better mood today.”
“I canst see that,” H’aanit says, standing beside him.
In another part of the courtyard, Tressa learns from the locals. She watches intently as they move their feet, and she tries to repeat the steps with varying success. Nearby, Primrose garners a circle of spectators with a performance of her own. They stand a respectful distance away, allowing her space to claim the stage. Therion feels her passion from his position; it’s a stark contrast to stifling taverns and wandering eyes. Many people share her space, yet Primrose seems so free here, so unhindered. He’s happy for her. She deserves all the joy.
Linde stands on her hind legs and peers toward the crowd, her front paws pressed against the wall. H’aanit pets her head, and she nuzzles her hand in return.
“Preferen our company, Linde? ‘Tis a lot of people, there.”
“I’m with her,” Therion adds.
“Me too!” a voice calls out.
Ophilia greets them with a nod, hands occupied with skewers of freshly-cooked meat. Linde’s eyes widen, and she chuffs in eagerness for food.
“It’s all right, I bought food instead! There’s enough for everyone! And don’t worry, I ate mine already,” Ophilia says, handing a roasted meat skewer to H’aanit and Therion. “You wouldn’t believe the line!”
Linde cares for no lines, only meat. She chuffs again as Ophilia removes a piece of meat from the skewer. Linde devours it, then another piece, and another.
“Don’t forget to chew!” Ophilia laughs.
“God, this is good,” Therion says aloud. It’s tender and perfectly seasoned. He could get used to this life.
On the courtyard, he recognizes Captain Raaf dancing, impressive steps encouraging his friends’ cheers. Near the sidelines, the elder Captain Lenaar enjoys quality time with his wife. Therion turns his gaze toward the Knight Ardante’s stronghold, where Eliza greets him from her station. She wears her armor once and while, and while on guard during the night’s events, she seems more at ease.
Therion thinks of the many confidants he’s met throughout their travels. They all hail from different walks of life, seeking inspiration, chasing their goals. Each time, they say, “You’re always welcome here” alongside similar words. It grounds him.
The music slows, and Therion spots Cyrus and Olberic dancing together in the courtyard. Cyrus is clumsy, true to his word. Olberic takes the lead, a guiding arm around Cyrus’ waist. Knights must have elaborate banquets of their own, Therion wonders to himself. Maybe he’s used to this. Maybe not. Olberic seems more relaxed, despite everything. That’s good. He needs to lighten up, anyway. As for Cyrus, he’s trying his best. Sometimes, that’s enough.
The night carries on in song and dance, and Primrose comes up the steps leading to the walls.
“There you all are. The night’s still young - why don’t you join us down here?”
“Oh! I’m not a very good dancer, you know that,” Ophilia says.
“I sharen the sentiment.”
“There’s nothing to worry about. Everyone is doing their own thing, and they won’t tease. They’re a wonderful crowd, in truth. I quite like it.” Primrose extends her hands. “If anything, you can watch. There’s incredible talent here.”
She gently takes Ophilia and H’aanit’s hands in her own, turning to Therion. “Join us, too.”
“Ah,” Therion hesitates, looking down at Linde. “Think she’s a bit nervous with these crowds. I’ll keep her company.”
Primrose nods in understanding. “Feel free to come down at any time. If Linde’s all right with it, of course.”
“Got it.”
He watches them walk down the stairs, weave through crowds, and reach the courtyard. Linde stays close, wrapping her tail gently around Therion. He reaches down to scratch behind her ears.
“I’m here Linde, don’t worry.”
Linde nuzzles against Therion’s hand as he pets her. Soothed, she stands on her hind legs again and peers over the wall, front paws against the ledge.
The crowd below stirs, then erupts into cheers. They part into two halves, and King Khalim enters the party in his own festive attire. He bows his head and raises his hands, lowering them slowly to calm the excitement.
“With respect to our heroes, I shall keep my blessings short. Remember the reason we celebrate on this day, on this star-strewn night, and beyond. I am forever grateful for their aid, and I hope you all may share in my gratitude. Now, let us continue!”
He signals the musicians with a raised hand, and the music livens up. They put their all into their performances, a harmonious sound full of passion and life. Therion feels the sounds thrum through his body, setting his nerves alight. It’s finally for a good reason.
Among the joyous atmosphere, he knows it’s a humble city with humble folks. Here he is among them, with his dear friends. He takes in a breath of fresh air when he sees said friends waving up at him. One hand, both hands, both hands and jumping - it’s the little things that keep him going.
“What do you think, Linde? Wanna join them?”
Linde tilts her head, deep in thought. Then, she returns to all fours and joins Therion’s side. He laughs, and they descend the stairs to join their friends. He’ll treasure the night with treasured companions, these jewels in the desert, the lights in his life.