The Unabated Desire for Solitude
42 Winter, 515
Afternoon
Privacy was a moment in time all creatures sought for one reason or another. It was what he sought after now, bounding through the inner workings of Syliras’ wall in search for a moment of time alone, away from others. The need for privacy was a prodding that often came to his mind, forcing him, usually, to leave the city altogether to take to the Bronze Woods where he’d fly, become one with the wind and the sky, leaving all facets of human civilization behind for a chunk of time he so cherished. At times he consciously wondered why he often yearned to be alone, separated from those he so desperately, at times, wanted to be like: humans. Then, subconsciously, it was decided he was a solitary predator, used to undertaking endeavors alone. The subconscious never revealed itself to the conscious, thus the reason was forever being searched for.
Winter had been harsh this year, closing out the year of 515 with a clap of cool air that followed all that walked outside into their warm homes, refusing to be shaken off by fires or blankets. Besides cold there was also an ungodly amount of snow falling from the sky in an off again on again torrent of cascading soft petals of ice. He ran a hand through his hair now, brushing the snow dusting his strands. His hand returned to him colder than before and wetter. Even with cold hands his skin’s contact appeared to be too much for the delicate kernels of snow to handle. They melted under his palms, folding beneath his organic weight.
He stopped, the precipice of a nearing cobble corner just another footfall out of reach before being rounded. Where was he going? he wondered. Never had he ever ventured so far from his home and so deep into the castle of Syliras. Always he stuck to the paths he knew well, not risking the chance of potentially being lost within the pathways of the castle he could not previously scout out from the sky above. Ahead he heard the clunking of greaves and armor rattling against itself. Coming from around the corner was a small patrol of guards, their gazes falling on his instantly as they rounded the cobble corner.
Noah nodded his head in salutation, hoping to defuse what he believed to be an awkward situation. There wasn’t a doubt in his mind that he looked suspicious, awkwardly placed in an otherwise deserted hallway in a black wool cloak whose deep hood hung around the back of his neck. Careful eyes observed the guards nod their heads back at him, their mouths pursed shut and lips cracked from the drying cold. He took a ginger side-step out of the way and allowed the guards to take up the hall, minimizing himself as a threat to their patrol and a target for their attention. Once their steps had faded to a comfortable dull thud he continued, rounding the corner they had come from.
Once rounded his boot’s own thudding dulled out to a squeaking creak of leather as he walked slowly, head turning from side to side. This corridor was different from the previous in that doors lined either side. Each one of them appeared to be very old, predating his time on the terra by hundreds of years. Still, despite their antiquity, his curiosity was unabated, only deepened. His body reacted by gravitating towards one of the doors on his right, feet making footfalls to close the distance. His hand was reaching for the handle of the door long before his mind understood where his actions were taking him.
At first there was a stubborn unwillingness to give on the door’s part, forcing Noah to brace his forearm against the old thing and give it a push. It gave way with a squeal from the hinges and a shudder as it moved from its frame. He opened it just a crack, enough for his lithe build to fit through. Then, once inside, he closed the door firmly behind him, using the weight of his entire being to fit the heavy thing back into its frame. When done he turned to face the room.
The windows allowed the lazy winter light through, cool in appearance due to the clouds hanging in the afternoon sky, but white because of the dusting of snow that fell and the snow already on the ground outside. The entire place was an empty void save for the cupboards, tables, chairs, and countertops that were all old in appearance. The walls were not bare though, which was surprising to him. They held hangings that he couldn’t place an origin on, but assumed them to be from Syliras or the region of Sylira, but his assumptions held no merit of confidence.
His stride was cautious as he delved further into the room, eerie quiet interrupted by the echo of his steps. He came to a nearby table, head swiveling, observing the various baubles placed upon windowsills and tabletops. They appeared exotic to him, unique in appearance, yet magical in a fantastical sense. He wondered their use, but also wondered if this was the solitude he sought after today. The uncanny quiet of the room greeted him, thus he affirmed as much.
Winter had been harsh this year, closing out the year of 515 with a clap of cool air that followed all that walked outside into their warm homes, refusing to be shaken off by fires or blankets. Besides cold there was also an ungodly amount of snow falling from the sky in an off again on again torrent of cascading soft petals of ice. He ran a hand through his hair now, brushing the snow dusting his strands. His hand returned to him colder than before and wetter. Even with cold hands his skin’s contact appeared to be too much for the delicate kernels of snow to handle. They melted under his palms, folding beneath his organic weight.
He stopped, the precipice of a nearing cobble corner just another footfall out of reach before being rounded. Where was he going? he wondered. Never had he ever ventured so far from his home and so deep into the castle of Syliras. Always he stuck to the paths he knew well, not risking the chance of potentially being lost within the pathways of the castle he could not previously scout out from the sky above. Ahead he heard the clunking of greaves and armor rattling against itself. Coming from around the corner was a small patrol of guards, their gazes falling on his instantly as they rounded the cobble corner.
Noah nodded his head in salutation, hoping to defuse what he believed to be an awkward situation. There wasn’t a doubt in his mind that he looked suspicious, awkwardly placed in an otherwise deserted hallway in a black wool cloak whose deep hood hung around the back of his neck. Careful eyes observed the guards nod their heads back at him, their mouths pursed shut and lips cracked from the drying cold. He took a ginger side-step out of the way and allowed the guards to take up the hall, minimizing himself as a threat to their patrol and a target for their attention. Once their steps had faded to a comfortable dull thud he continued, rounding the corner they had come from.
Once rounded his boot’s own thudding dulled out to a squeaking creak of leather as he walked slowly, head turning from side to side. This corridor was different from the previous in that doors lined either side. Each one of them appeared to be very old, predating his time on the terra by hundreds of years. Still, despite their antiquity, his curiosity was unabated, only deepened. His body reacted by gravitating towards one of the doors on his right, feet making footfalls to close the distance. His hand was reaching for the handle of the door long before his mind understood where his actions were taking him.
At first there was a stubborn unwillingness to give on the door’s part, forcing Noah to brace his forearm against the old thing and give it a push. It gave way with a squeal from the hinges and a shudder as it moved from its frame. He opened it just a crack, enough for his lithe build to fit through. Then, once inside, he closed the door firmly behind him, using the weight of his entire being to fit the heavy thing back into its frame. When done he turned to face the room.
The windows allowed the lazy winter light through, cool in appearance due to the clouds hanging in the afternoon sky, but white because of the dusting of snow that fell and the snow already on the ground outside. The entire place was an empty void save for the cupboards, tables, chairs, and countertops that were all old in appearance. The walls were not bare though, which was surprising to him. They held hangings that he couldn’t place an origin on, but assumed them to be from Syliras or the region of Sylira, but his assumptions held no merit of confidence.
His stride was cautious as he delved further into the room, eerie quiet interrupted by the echo of his steps. He came to a nearby table, head swiveling, observing the various baubles placed upon windowsills and tabletops. They appeared exotic to him, unique in appearance, yet magical in a fantastical sense. He wondered their use, but also wondered if this was the solitude he sought after today. The uncanny quiet of the room greeted him, thus he affirmed as much.