<span style="font-style: italic">The rain came down with a ferocious tenacity, the steady</span>tap-tap<span style="font-style: italic">of water hitting rooftops and the packed earth below obscuring the sounds of murmurs and whispers. Siravii didn’t need to hear them to know that they were talking about him. About how the water at his feet ran red when it should run clear. About the body that lay crumpled at his feet, and about how it was begging for mercy just moments ago. About the fact that they both wore the same regalia.<br/><br/>A feeling of immense panic set in. Siravii’s sword fell to the ground, a thin mix of blood and water surrounding it. His eyes struggled through the grey wall of rain, straining to find a familiar face in a mass of unfamiliar silhouettes. “Sarae?!” he yelled over the storm, stepping over the lifeless form of his comrade. The silhouettes scrambled backwards to get away from him, except for one. <br/><br/>“Avi?” she called, but he found himself unable to answer. He opened his mouth to yell back to her that he was here for her, that he wasn’t leaving her, that she was going to be okay. But he couldn’t. “Siravii?” she called for him again. And again. And again…</span><br/><br/>Dark eyes snapped open as Siravii was startled awake. His heart beat furiously against its cage, and the thin layer of sweat covering his body made him shiver violently against the air of the cold, dank dungeon. Clenching his jaw and breathing through his nose to slow himself down, Siravii’s head rolled along the hard cot that was afforded to the Queen’s prisoners. Then he promptly rolled his eyes and turned to lay with his back to the door where Soma and the house guards stood.<br/><br/>“Up,” he commanded, with all the authority of the desh himself. “It’s time to leave.”<br/><br/><div style="text-align: center;">*~*~*~*</div><br/><br/>It was too bright. The temperature was too ambient. Stablemen and patrolling guardsmen seemed to carry about their business as if the day was perfect. And indeed, it was. If they all intended to march into the Whitewood and die, at least it was a nice fucking day.<br/><br/>Siravii led the way to the stables, free of the terribly grabby hands guiding him by the arms. Instead, his guards hung behind them to make some sort of idle chat or another with Soma. Whatever the reason for their relaxing on his treatment, he didn’t care. Perhaps it was just a small, final freedom for a dead man walking.<br/><br/>In the distance, the prince appeared to be far ahead of them, already prepared and ready to depart. With him, a well-built young woman stood at the ready, yet looking every bit as eager to be here as Siravii was. Soma returned the prince’s greeting, while Siravii largely ignored it and darted to a sturdy looking mount that had been prepared for them. He looked it over carefully, hoping to find something wrong with its gear in order to delay their departure even further. Deft hands checked the saddle, the bridle, the saddlepack, and finally he sighed. No excuses or delays there, the horse was saddled perfectly.<br/><br/>At the mention of weapons, Siravii half-turned to the prince, then craned his neck to look back at Soma. “You’re arming me, now?” he asked, the corner of his lips curving upward just slightly. Soma rolled his eyes, and the prisoner returned to examining his horse. A sheath had been affixed to a side pack, and Siravii drew it out just slightly. It was by no means one of the dark elvish scimitars that he was used to wielding, but it would do.<br/><br/>“That. I need that,” he demanded suddenly, pointing at the waist of one of the two guards. The guard put a defensive hand over the sheathed dagger at his hip. Siravii’s eyes darted upward to meet those of the guards, then he snapped his fingers twice and continued pointing. “Oh fuck off, the prince said you’ve got an armory, right? You can always get another one.” He gave a stiff smile and nodded his head in gratitude when the dagger was finally laid in his palm.<br/><br/>Soma shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose to regain himself before turning to the guard named Atlas. “Thank you for readying the horses,” he said, though his gratitude only thinly masked his intended apology for his prisoner’s behavior. He climbed upon his mount, waiting impatiently for Siravii to fix the supplied dagger and sword to his belt before doing the same.<br/><br/>And like that, they were off. The day still carried on around them, and if it were not for the feeling of impending doom, it might have even felt like they were going on a pleasant ride around the capital city instead of making their way to the Whitewood to die. The road leading out of the city’s western gate was wide enough for entire caravans to pass through comfortably, as most trade routes were. And in spite of all this room, Siravii found himself leading the group by himself. Because he was the only one who knew where they were going, so Soma had said. But the last time Siravii checked, just about everyone with eyes knew where the Whitewood was, because it literally stretched the entirety of the border. He knew that this was just Soma’s way of keeping tabs on him - staying behind him and being able to react quickly if he made any sudden moves. It was smart and Siravii hated him for it.<br/><br/>Wanting to fill the void of silence, and knowing that Siravii was not about to jump to the task, Soma pulled his reigns and led his horse slightly closer to the prince’s. “Will this be your first expedition? From what I’ve heard of your mother, I didn’t expect her to send you out.”