(no subject)
The sunrise here to the north is a spectacular affair; it finds him at the edge of a pond, contemplating the water's flow over the rocks. Lesson one is learned: nighttime in Strangia is no time at all to be out and about on one's one. It's more than evident that the country as a whole is not only preparing but almost completely prepared for war: things are locked down tightly and friendly faces are few and far between... even to one dressed in the unmistakable uniform of the Strangian army.
It's all right, though. He's learned far more in this one night than the King of Ingary might have hoped for; the work he and Sophie have been doing certainly is both appropriate and adequate. There are strange magics at work in this land: they're as tangible as the water in the stream at his feet. As much as he'd prefer to be home bickering with Sophie over doing too much work or the merits of cooking on Calcifer, he understands why he's here. If Ingary suffers from one thing, it's a false sense of security. Things are far worse than he (or, he suspects, the King) imagined. Everywhere, there are stockpiles of munitions and canned goods and clothing; storefronts have been turned into military effort workshops; anti-Ingary signs grace every street corner.
He's not quite sure what Ingary has done to incur such hatred, but he'd like to understand it. Unfortunately, he doubts he'll have that luxury: there's movement in the distance and so he takes his rifle in hand and stands tall: watching, waiting, listening.
It's all right, though. He's learned far more in this one night than the King of Ingary might have hoped for; the work he and Sophie have been doing certainly is both appropriate and adequate. There are strange magics at work in this land: they're as tangible as the water in the stream at his feet. As much as he'd prefer to be home bickering with Sophie over doing too much work or the merits of cooking on Calcifer, he understands why he's here. If Ingary suffers from one thing, it's a false sense of security. Things are far worse than he (or, he suspects, the King) imagined. Everywhere, there are stockpiles of munitions and canned goods and clothing; storefronts have been turned into military effort workshops; anti-Ingary signs grace every street corner.
He's not quite sure what Ingary has done to incur such hatred, but he'd like to understand it. Unfortunately, he doubts he'll have that luxury: there's movement in the distance and so he takes his rifle in hand and stands tall: watching, waiting, listening.