Our paths are like a boomerang

The rocky terrain closer to the fjord required a great deal of concentration. The path he chose was not an easy one, though Bast made it seem so. She bounded ahead of him, feline paws giving her a measure of grace against the hard rock. The Warlord followed at a more sedated pace. Taking his time as the salty breeze ruffled his coat, and the morning sunlight warmed against his dark tones.

He let silence wrap around him until he took a misstep. His claws sliding uselessly across a path of moss as he shifted his balance and saved himself from a plunge into the chill water at the last moment.

Marshal looked back at him, a glower in the birds eyes as he looked to the Warlord, and the easier path that lay only a short hop away. His opinion on the Warlords choices was clear.


"Sirius Fatalis"