18.Apr.13, 06:18 PM
M'din started at the disgruntled voice emanating from Armath's stomach. It wasn't until his fellow rider stepped around the flying lump of a beast that M'din could place a name to the speech: C'vir of Brown Besulth. He'd heard some of the female greenriders and more of the males, for that matter, discussing the handsome blue-eyed, curly haired man before him. Dusting himself off, M'din stood with his book in tow, completely unfazed by the man's borderline rude tone. "It's never a battle of wits when I'm playing," he grinned, hoping to soften C'vir's displeased visage. The younger rider reminded him of his sister for a reason he couldn't place, probably the pretty face marred permanently with a scowl.
"I'm M'din," he said. He stepped forward with an extended hand.
And I'm Armath. He tapped a sharp claw daintily on the ground in his hollow. This land is my land. With a less-than-graceful flop, he slumped heavily into the pathway at C'vir's feet, a single blue eye rolling up to stare at him. This land is also my land.
"You'll have to forgive him," said M'din quickly. "Now that he knows you're bothered by his presence, he's never going to leave you alone." Armath huffed disdainfully and slouched out of the road, relocating as if he'd never been prompted.
I move of my own volition, he projected haughtily.
Although his hut was untidy--clothes lying on the floor and bed unmade--it was cleaner than usual, and M'din thought it only proper to invite C'vir inside. "Would you like to come in? I'm sure you'd be a better match for Armath's riddles than I am, or you could borrow my books if you'd like."
He found himself hoping C'vir would spend a bit more time with him, if only to explore the similarities between the young rider and M'din's older sister, Khindra. She had been a strong and charming woman, determined to do something great with her life without sacrificing her dignity. It had been ten years since she died, and still M'din sharply missed her intelligence, advice, and steadfast friendship. Even when he was a weakling child, Khindra had always been good to him, and merciful when others were not. He felt a painful sense of déjà vu looking at the irked rider.
This man is not Khindra, M'din, said Armath privately. His voice gentled in warning.
No, he isn't. But I like him. Maybe he'll play at riddles with you like she did, M'din suggested. Armath brightened considerably at the possibility. He addressed C'vir impishly,Bring Besulth if you stay. I hear he's fun.
"I'm M'din," he said. He stepped forward with an extended hand.
"You'll have to forgive him," said M'din quickly. "Now that he knows you're bothered by his presence, he's never going to leave you alone." Armath huffed disdainfully and slouched out of the road, relocating as if he'd never been prompted.
Although his hut was untidy--clothes lying on the floor and bed unmade--it was cleaner than usual, and M'din thought it only proper to invite C'vir inside. "Would you like to come in? I'm sure you'd be a better match for Armath's riddles than I am, or you could borrow my books if you'd like."
He found himself hoping C'vir would spend a bit more time with him, if only to explore the similarities between the young rider and M'din's older sister, Khindra. She had been a strong and charming woman, determined to do something great with her life without sacrificing her dignity. It had been ten years since she died, and still M'din sharply missed her intelligence, advice, and steadfast friendship. Even when he was a weakling child, Khindra had always been good to him, and merciful when others were not. He felt a painful sense of déjà vu looking at the irked rider.
No, he isn't. But I like him. Maybe he'll play at riddles with you like she did, M'din suggested. Armath brightened considerably at the possibility. He addressed C'vir impishly,