45th of Ashan, Arc 719
Evonshire was a noisy place, even at night. There were always animals demanding to be fed, people bustling around, militia members training. It gave the village a liveliness that Prae loved, but it did mean that he often had to go some distance from the village to get some peace and quiet.
Tonight, for instance, Praetorum had found himself unable to sleep, and so instead had elected to go for a run, clad only in his sleep clothes, his scythe and buckler. It was, perhaps, not the wisest decision one could make, not in a place like the grasslands of Yaralon, but Praetorum had grown confident in his ability to, if not defeat, at least evade or escape any danger. In the very worst case scenario, a strength rune along his legs, combined with his Paltharnum physiology, would let him outrun most anything.
It was, he was well aware, a level of overconfidence that he should disapprove of in himself, but it was hard not to feel confident when the elements themselves had your back. So Praetorum ran, making a wide circle around the village, always keeping it in sight, while himself staying just a little too far to be easily spotted from within. The earth, absurd as it might have seemed to say, ran with him, the dirt molding slightly under his footfalls so he always landed on comfortable dirt, never a loose rock or hidden pothole. He did nearly trip over a tree branch, though; it seemed there was only so much that the world could, or would change for his convenience. It was no matter; he'd survived this long without defiance, he was accustomed to having to watch where he was going.
Praetorum wasn't sure how long it was he ran for, only that he'd fallen into a sort of peace, as he often did during strenuous exercise. It was the peace that came with long marches, or running drills on a saun day, or even standing guard, where a man grew so accustomed to a task his mind ceased to consider it at all, his body acting on rote while his mind wandered.
So as he ran, Praetorum considered the elements, his friends. It shocked him, honestly, how quickly he'd taken to this spark, and how well it had taken to him; it hadn't been a dozen trials, and he already could not imagine living in silence again, without the hum of the ground under his feet and the whistle of the wind in his ear. Not even a dozen trials, and Prae could already feel the spark changing him in a way the Hone spark still hadn't. Praetorum had never been so restless before, never felt the need to run for the sake of running, or swim just to feel himself slicing through the water, but he felt it now, an everpresent itch to move, to flow, to do anything but hold still.
It should worry him, he thought, that he was changed, even in such a small way.
But.
The fire lulling him to sleep, the air settling warm and affectionate over his hide, the ever presentness of the elements, it filled a hole in him that Praetorum had spent near a decade pretending didn't exist. The need to have someone there, right at his side, someone he could turn to at any point and just know that they would always be together. It had opened in him long before his brother had died, long before he had even disappeared.
He'd never thought he might find something like that again, never thought he would want to even if he could. But no one could take the air from him, or the ground beneath his feet. Water and fire could always be found again, no matter how many times they were snuffed out or drained away.
Praetorum held that comforting thought in his mind as he shook himself back into reality. How many loops around the village had he done, all the while lost in contemplation? Praetorum didn't know; all he knew was that his breathing was ragged, and his thighs and core ached. Before, he would have stopped then, taken a breath.
One more loop.
Tonight, for instance, Praetorum had found himself unable to sleep, and so instead had elected to go for a run, clad only in his sleep clothes, his scythe and buckler. It was, perhaps, not the wisest decision one could make, not in a place like the grasslands of Yaralon, but Praetorum had grown confident in his ability to, if not defeat, at least evade or escape any danger. In the very worst case scenario, a strength rune along his legs, combined with his Paltharnum physiology, would let him outrun most anything.
It was, he was well aware, a level of overconfidence that he should disapprove of in himself, but it was hard not to feel confident when the elements themselves had your back. So Praetorum ran, making a wide circle around the village, always keeping it in sight, while himself staying just a little too far to be easily spotted from within. The earth, absurd as it might have seemed to say, ran with him, the dirt molding slightly under his footfalls so he always landed on comfortable dirt, never a loose rock or hidden pothole. He did nearly trip over a tree branch, though; it seemed there was only so much that the world could, or would change for his convenience. It was no matter; he'd survived this long without defiance, he was accustomed to having to watch where he was going.
Praetorum wasn't sure how long it was he ran for, only that he'd fallen into a sort of peace, as he often did during strenuous exercise. It was the peace that came with long marches, or running drills on a saun day, or even standing guard, where a man grew so accustomed to a task his mind ceased to consider it at all, his body acting on rote while his mind wandered.
So as he ran, Praetorum considered the elements, his friends. It shocked him, honestly, how quickly he'd taken to this spark, and how well it had taken to him; it hadn't been a dozen trials, and he already could not imagine living in silence again, without the hum of the ground under his feet and the whistle of the wind in his ear. Not even a dozen trials, and Prae could already feel the spark changing him in a way the Hone spark still hadn't. Praetorum had never been so restless before, never felt the need to run for the sake of running, or swim just to feel himself slicing through the water, but he felt it now, an everpresent itch to move, to flow, to do anything but hold still.
It should worry him, he thought, that he was changed, even in such a small way.
But.
The fire lulling him to sleep, the air settling warm and affectionate over his hide, the ever presentness of the elements, it filled a hole in him that Praetorum had spent near a decade pretending didn't exist. The need to have someone there, right at his side, someone he could turn to at any point and just know that they would always be together. It had opened in him long before his brother had died, long before he had even disappeared.
He'd never thought he might find something like that again, never thought he would want to even if he could. But no one could take the air from him, or the ground beneath his feet. Water and fire could always be found again, no matter how many times they were snuffed out or drained away.
Praetorum held that comforting thought in his mind as he shook himself back into reality. How many loops around the village had he done, all the while lost in contemplation? Praetorum didn't know; all he knew was that his breathing was ragged, and his thighs and core ached. Before, he would have stopped then, taken a breath.
One more loop.
