[Flashback] Dishonorable Graves

[Duvalyon Hellebore]

Early Summer, 506 The enthusiasm and bravado of youth had pressed Duvalyon through the bulk of the trip's disappointments with a dangerous sort of optimism. A successful harvest at a younger age had both jaded and emboldened him. Where older, more cautious minds would hesitate, he pressed on, drunk with confidence. In later years, he would recognize his conduct for recklessness, but not without a tinge of admiration for the Duvalyon that once was. His youthful resiliency was yet un-depleted, even after another failure. The tents he had pursued did not belong to the people of his birth-mother, and they were not inclined to host him for the evening. He was unsurprised by the latter. It was the occasional hospitality that startled him, not the mild encouragement to leave. Benshira at least waited for him to get a distance before making wards or shaking the dust off their feet. A very courteous race. It was evening by the time he set out, and dark mid journey. This decision to travel the desert late at night would be looked back on with a faint cringe. His current rationalization was framed around his ability to see in the dark, as if seeing danger would spare him it. His horse did not share his talents, though. It had halted under him and huffed its poor opinion of Duvalyon's travel plans. He was now pulling it over low dunes by its lead rope, occasionally berating it for cowardice and general uselessness.