His horse.<br/><br/>Not the armor, and certainly not the attention nor the praise. Not the way that the sun rose over the wall in the morning. Not the food, or the drink. Not even his beloved scythe, despite how he recalled it had just been sent away. It would have been freshly sharpened, and sung just as he'd liked it to. Still, that wasn't it.<br/><br/>What he missed most was that tall, proud neck and those intelligent big brown eyes. He'd raised him from a foal. He'd had to,  but that hadn't made the bond between them any less special. Temperance was an impressive animal and, as he reflected on his life, a good friend. Funny how few he'd found he had of those. Not even his unit, in the end, but he'd known that all along, hadn't he? Some might have forgotten, but not him.<br/><br/>He stepped on a bit of uneven earth and gave a groan. The boots he'd been able to pick up where already starting to wear through, and each jolt of the rocky ground sent an ache up his leg. He'd been tired for what felt like an eternity now, but his mind echoed to just keep moving. To just take another step. To just keep running. Still, a deeper part of him wondered: Why?<br/><br/>Fate had decided that it wanted him done with so badly, that it had brought him to this - ragged, exhausted, and defamed. It had taken everything from him. Everyone, too, in their own way. So why bother anymore? Why fight it when there was nothing left, and he was wasting away each and every day?<br/><br/>There came a soft singing in his chest, that dulled but vibrant hum. A deep frown formed across his face.<br/><br/>Because they were wrong.<br/><br/><br/>Over the top of the fabric wrapped just over the bridge of his nose, dulled amber eyes slowly opened to stare blankly at the path in front of him. He was only a few hours from...from...where was it again? The Father had once said that he had a mind as sharp as the royal advisor's tongue, but now his thoughts crept as slow as cold molasses. He'd never had the ability to forget like some people had. He wondered now, like this, was it how normal people felt in their heads?<br/><br/>Elenburgh. There it was. That was the name of it.<br/><br/>Why someone had bothered to give a name for such a barren and hopeless place, he'd never known, but some other rather visionary souls had come together to build a few small shops and taverns. Or, well, one row of stalls for shops, and a tavern. There was apparently a few shanty houses located in the woods behind it that made up a small village, but he'd never ventured that far back. In fact, he'd only ridden by twice and hadn't bothered a second glance. Even for someone like him, the place seemed utterly forgettable. The irony now was how badly he depended on its existence.<br/><br/><br/>He arrived with dusk, just when the few torches outside the row of stalls were being lit in hopes to keep the animals away. Thankfully, there wasn't much for them to be interested in anyways.<br/><br/>To his tired eyes, the lights of the tavern looked like bastions of civilization. He felt his heart give a soft clench at the promise of warmth and food. Most of all, of the sound of voices around him. Though he'd never been one for attention or praise, there was something to be said about ambient company. A warmth of being part of something, even when sitting quietly alone in a room filled with strangers.<br/><br/>With a few deep breaths, he stopped and stared at it for the longest time. A few people came and went, ignoring the rather ragged looking outline that lingered on the path as he carefully appraised his situation. It wasn't like he could go in and simply settle there for a few hours. He hadn't the coin to pay for anything, and he didn't need the attention or aggravation of being tossed out like a beggar. It was a bitter bite in his chest to remember vastly better days. There was no comfort in a fall from grace.<br/><br/>He turned instead and began making his way around it, able to discern the dirt foot paths in the dim light. If he waited long enough, he ventured, he could find a well to steal water from. Along that pathetic vein of thought, perhaps the inn might have hogs to throw out some food to. The smaller bits he would be able to make do with.<br/><br/>It had been two weeks now since he'd lost the energy to hunt. Without weapons, it had been hard enough to catch his food, but the depleted energy had eaten away all but the ability to just keep moving. Each and ever time he stopped, he'd found it harder to rise. Despite having a few close calls from battles before, he'd never felt the way a heart fluttered in the chest when it had scarcely the energy left to keep it going. It was a nearly constant occurance now, and he wondered when the time would come when he'd lack the ability to rise.<br/><br/>If it came while he was free, he thought bitterly, it would still be the smallest of victories.<br/><br/><br/>He had finally found a small cove to wait out the hours until the trickling stream of locals died down. It wasn't too far from the start of the shanty houses, tucked back by the remains of what had to be an old animal stall. It was now just a pile of boards engulfed by a set of unkind vines. He'd had to chase a fox out before he settled down into long greyed hay and decayed leaves. At least it was out of the wind. Most of all, he hoped it would let him go unnoticed.<br/><br/>He was mostly a tattered mess of dilapidated furs and torn fabric and, the worse you looked, the less kind people were to just let you be. And, by now, he had gone from worse to worst, he feared. The leather beneath the rags felt as thought it needed to be wrapped tighter and tighter by the day. He'd been steadily wasting away since the moment he left, and not a part of him left seemed recognizable. Still, he feared that someone would find a way. That they'd come from him. He couldn't face them. Not like this. Not ever, as far as his broken heart was concerned.<br/><br/>A muffled groan sounded as he brought his knees up, arms draping over the top of them. His heavy head bowed forward, burdened by the weight. Idly a few fingers came up, moving the fabric and wiping over the metal that instantly heated at his touch. He distantly wondered whose idea it had been.<br/><br/>The moment he felt a hot and familiar anger, his fingers dropped away. He bit it back, and his eyes closed to summon strength. The second they did, they jolted back open. He'd felt the sucking drain of sleep instantly lash out against him. Long grey lashes fluttered once, then again, before they were soon back down. This time, they stayed that way. Despite his intentions of simply waiting it out, it seemed he didn't have the strength to follow through. For now, he'd simply stay as he was- huddled in the rubble, a fitting throne for a lord of nothing.