They say blood makes you related but
loyalty makes you family
When Deimos reassured Loren that the warrior wouldn’t let any harm come to the Launceleyn, he smiled. ”I appreciate it. But, no offense to you, I’d rather have the two of us at full strength in case we need to confront a threat out here.” The woods were blighted and full of Fae, and the Launceleyn would not want to meet whatever they could spit out at anything less than his full strength. It would make sense to wait until the summoner was fully rested anyway.
”Thank you.” At the mention of illusions and fire, Loren frowned, and tilted his head; at his command, the kitsune shook its fur and a flock of illusory butterflies lifted from it, flitting about in a riot of colors. It was a small trick—and the summoner wasn’t going to try to summon fire in the woods without knowing if he could control it afterwards—but it sure looked pretty.
However, then, perhaps because his mind had wandered in that direction, his eyes caught upon the image of a pyre consuming all the Launceleyn’s who’d passed: Wyeth, Cyton, Astra, Neron, Edy, and then finally Loren himself. It was a gruesome mockery of their funeral customs, and his breath caught in his throat. Concentration shattered, the kitsune and butterflies both vanished without a trace. It was a glaring loss of control, but the summoner couldn’t help himself.
Tearing his eyes from the puddle, Loren desperately and frantically tried to find something to distract himself. At the sight of the warrior, his mind jumped to perhaps the farthest topic it could. ”So. We’re both in the militia. Have you given any more thought to how to bolster our ranks?” Hesitating, Loren added tentatively, ”There were some I served with back in Northaven that might be willing to take up arms again for a good cause.” Of course, the Storm Watch had never really gotten off the ground, but he thought at least a few people would be receptive to it.
”Thank you.” At the mention of illusions and fire, Loren frowned, and tilted his head; at his command, the kitsune shook its fur and a flock of illusory butterflies lifted from it, flitting about in a riot of colors. It was a small trick—and the summoner wasn’t going to try to summon fire in the woods without knowing if he could control it afterwards—but it sure looked pretty.
However, then, perhaps because his mind had wandered in that direction, his eyes caught upon the image of a pyre consuming all the Launceleyn’s who’d passed: Wyeth, Cyton, Astra, Neron, Edy, and then finally Loren himself. It was a gruesome mockery of their funeral customs, and his breath caught in his throat. Concentration shattered, the kitsune and butterflies both vanished without a trace. It was a glaring loss of control, but the summoner couldn’t help himself.
Tearing his eyes from the puddle, Loren desperately and frantically tried to find something to distract himself. At the sight of the warrior, his mind jumped to perhaps the farthest topic it could. ”So. We’re both in the militia. Have you given any more thought to how to bolster our ranks?” Hesitating, Loren added tentatively, ”There were some I served with back in Northaven that might be willing to take up arms again for a good cause.” Of course, the Storm Watch had never really gotten off the ground, but he thought at least a few people would be receptive to it.
LOREN
