[center]Date: 3rd of Seliel, Year 698[/center]

There were people who feared solitude, but Arlohius did not count himself among them. He sat astride his horse, the barren hills stretching out on all sides, a warm wind brushing across the grasses like the breath of a contented god. Near a jumble of half-buried stones there was a scatter of white bones, and set upon one of those boulders was the multi-tined rack of a bull eckalla. Slain by a hunter turns past, the perched antlers pronounced and the triumph of the kill. 

It seemed a poignantly hollow triumph in Arlohius's eyes. The ancient tradition of hunting had been held aloft as a standard of virtue, emblazoned with the colors of courage, patience and skill. It was also a hand upon the beating heart of the earth, even if that hand was slick with blood. Challenges and contest of wits between Tilrinic and beast- when the truth was, it was rarely any contest at all. Unquestionably hunting for food was a sure and necessary instinct, but forms were born of pragmatic needs until such endeavors came to mean more than they once did. Now, hunting was seen as a rite of passage, when necessity had long since ceased. 

It was a curiosity to Arlohius that so many men and women, well along in their turns, still found need to repeat those rites of passages, as if emotionally trapped in the transition from child to adult. He well understood the excitement of the chase, the sweet tension of the stalk, but for him these were not the reasons to hunt, while for many he know that they had become just that. 

[i]Do we hunt to practice for war? The blood, the dying eyes of the slain... our terrible facilitation with suffering? What vile core do we dip into in such moments? Why is this taste not too bitter to bear?”[/i]

He had seen no sign of living eckalla, and he had ridden far from Lochbridge, far from sad Carixus and his excited niece, far from the world of weddings, hostages and ever growing tensions among the highborn, and yet even here, among the hills Aglil was famed for and beneath this vast sky, his kind found him, with trophies of death.

Years past, when he was still young enough to dream, he imagined setting out to discover a new world. Years past, when he was still young enough to dream, he imagined setting out to discover a new world, a place without other tilrin or other people, without civilization, where he could live along and unencumbered- no, perhaps not alone: he also saw her at his side, a companion in his great adventure. That world had the feel of the past, but a past no eye had witnessed, which made it innocent. And he would think of himself as prey, not predator, as if shedding the skin of brazen killer, and with this would come a thrill of fear. 

In his weaker moments, Arlohius still longed for that place, where freedom's risk were plain t understand, and when he rode out from the city, as he had done this time, vanishing into as much of the wild as remained, he found himself searching – not for eckalla, or their signs; not for wolves on the horizon or in the valleys; not for the hares and the hawks- but for a past he knew was for ever lost. Worse yet, it was a past he and his people did not belong in, and so could never know. He had been trained for war just as he had been taught how to hunt and how to slay , and these were deemed necessary skills in preparation for adulthood. How sad was that?

His horse's ears flicked and then tilted. Arlohius rose to stand in his stirrups, scanned the horizon in the direction of the horse's sudden attention. A troop of riders coming down from the north. Their appearance startled him. He could see that they were mostly Tilrinics, wearing armor but bareheaded, helms strapped to the saddles. The only settlement remotely close was Sedis Hold, at least three days to the northwest, and these riders would have had to cross the Silver river, a difficult task at any time of the turn, when it would have been simpler to remain on the road on the river's other side, which would take them down past Whitestone and hence onward to Lochbridge. There was no reason for such a risky crossing when solid bridges beckoned to the south. The riders were drawing closer, but not in any haste

Nudging his horse round to face the newcomers Arlohius hesitated a moment, and then rode towards them. As he approached, he saw that the riders had rather unkempt looking gear, and oddly sized for their frames. As if the gear itself had come second hand. That was not all together odd, given the expense of forging such equipment. Still something about that detail struck Arlohius as odd. The riders amounted to a score of apparent regular soldiers in all, a sergeant and, at the forefront of the troop, a captain. This mans eyes were intent, studying Arlohius as if looking for something in particular. Evidently failing to find it, he visibly relaxed, and then held up a hand to halt those behind him. 

“You journey far,” the captain said. “Do you seek to deliver a message to Silverdeer?” 

Arlohius shook his head. “No sir. To do that, I would be upon the other side of the river.”

“Then what brings a young highborn out wandering the hills?” 

It seemed, then, that this captain was determined to ignore the matter of their being on the wrong side of the river. Arlohius shrugged. “I am Arlohius Oloro, hostage to-”

“House Paragon.” The captain's lean, weathered face broke into a smile. “Is it a rude guess that you fled the frenzied preparations for marriage?” 

“Excuse me?”

The man laughed. “I am Captain Maroccius Clantia, Arlohius. My journey to the south is simple. We plan on attending the ceremony, Of course, It pleases me to know that Alysara and House Paragon are upon the very crisp of wedding bliss. Something the realm surly needs.” 

Arlohius knew the name of Maroccius Clantia, an officer who had fought with distinction in the under wars. What he had not known was that he had been posted at Sedis. “As hostage to House Paragon, sir, it would be my honor to escort you. I have tarried in these wilds long enough, I suppose.” He brought his mount round as the captain waved his band forward. 

Clantia, Arlohius rode up alongside him. “If I were in your place, Arlohius Oloro, I might well be seeking an empty cave among the hermits of the north wilds. A young woman about to be wed- whom you have known for so long now- well, I have guessed wrong as to your motives?”

“My motives sir?” 

“Out in the wilds, along and blissfully at peace- you have been gone some days I wager.” 

Arlohius sighed. “You see the truth of it sir,” 

“Then we'll speak no more of wounded hearts. Nor will I torture you with questions about Alysara. Tell me, have you seen any eckalla?”

“None living sir,” Arlohius replied.

The Captain nodded and they rode for a time in silence. His smile held he absent mindedly tapped the bagged strapped to his saddle. Baesar had always fancied himself a good liar as well a talented smuggler, and indeed- there were few easier ways of getting across country under the nose of many attached to a official caravan. A royal one at that.