KORBIN
And round about his home the glory
That blushed and bloomed,
That blushed and bloomed,
His mouth had gone dry in an instant. With all his focus on the moving spot up ahead, his thoughts slowed to a halt, leaving behind everything that did not belong in the present. Korbin threw a quick glance to the sky, measuring the position of the sun; it was ahead of them. Good. No need to conceal their breath by shoving snow into the mouth. The figure was silhouetted though, difficult to see properly. He longed to turn raven and have a closer look, but wouldn't leave Noah alone.
The moments crept by. For a time, the figure seemed motionless, frozen in place. Then it moved, and he felt his gut tighten, roil with tension and adrenaline. It was too small for an ursur. Not wide enough for a luxere. And there was only one; not a wolf.
It moved closer. And Korbin had to bite back a curse; it was a person. Man or woman was too far off to tell, and it didn't matter. Out here a solitary person in the snow usually meant only one thing.
"Exile," he breathed. Preferring the term over 'cannibal', because really. He was naive enough to hope that not everyone thrown out of the Citadel would resort to such barbarism.
Korbin threw a quick glance at Noah. Asking what to do. This was his hunt, his expedition. He called the shots.
The moments crept by. For a time, the figure seemed motionless, frozen in place. Then it moved, and he felt his gut tighten, roil with tension and adrenaline. It was too small for an ursur. Not wide enough for a luxere. And there was only one; not a wolf.
It moved closer. And Korbin had to bite back a curse; it was a person. Man or woman was too far off to tell, and it didn't matter. Out here a solitary person in the snow usually meant only one thing.
"Exile," he breathed. Preferring the term over 'cannibal', because really. He was naive enough to hope that not everyone thrown out of the Citadel would resort to such barbarism.
Korbin threw a quick glance at Noah. Asking what to do. This was his hunt, his expedition. He called the shots.
Is but a dim-remembered story
Of the old time entombed.
Of the old time entombed.
