"I've been to the sea," He called back, though he had not travelled over it, and not so far as they were going to be. He had travelled before to the western edge of the Atraxian desert, and north over the Commonwealth, though the skies in Ecith were treacherous with the occasional massive airborne primal or wild dragon. Solunarium was free of the Primals because they did not traverse the desert, but he knew of them from their presence in the jungles of their accursed northern neighbor.
Perhaps, in all of this time, Æden had traveled so far as they were going to travel. Perhaps if you added up every trip, he had traveled much farther. But he had never truly left Solunarium. He had not visited a foreign city, or even spoken to the locals of the Commonwealth. So it didn't count. But he was surprised Phocion had not; the Sentinels were likely to sneak off to other corners of the world, to feed back information so that Solunarium was content and happy and safe and properly eager to reach their fingers into the wars and pockets that did not concern them. Like this very trip.
"Just the Commonwealth!" He called back.
Praventores were, of any of the Golden Legion, most likely to camp in the desert, and Æden had camped under both the blazing sun and the silvery moons enough that he did not struggle with his setup. His tent, compared to his appearance, was simple and functional, and Sandworm rested near it, his winged-hands pushing the fabric of the tent. It stayed steady, anchored in the sandy mix of dirt. Shrubs, brush, and the occasional tree encroached where the desert met the jungle, and this savannah was more solid than the dunes.
A fire was started, and much of the two guard congregated near it. Æden, in some manner of aloof distance, stayed near his Wyvern, leaned against its side, and ate from his rations in the dark, shaded by the creature from the setting moons. Soon enough the sky would burst in pink and orange, and he would task the ward over his tent to keep out the sunlight before he slept. But not now, when there was no sunlight to protect against.
Perhaps, in all of this time, Æden had traveled so far as they were going to travel. Perhaps if you added up every trip, he had traveled much farther. But he had never truly left Solunarium. He had not visited a foreign city, or even spoken to the locals of the Commonwealth. So it didn't count. But he was surprised Phocion had not; the Sentinels were likely to sneak off to other corners of the world, to feed back information so that Solunarium was content and happy and safe and properly eager to reach their fingers into the wars and pockets that did not concern them. Like this very trip.
"Just the Commonwealth!" He called back.
Praventores were, of any of the Golden Legion, most likely to camp in the desert, and Æden had camped under both the blazing sun and the silvery moons enough that he did not struggle with his setup. His tent, compared to his appearance, was simple and functional, and Sandworm rested near it, his winged-hands pushing the fabric of the tent. It stayed steady, anchored in the sandy mix of dirt. Shrubs, brush, and the occasional tree encroached where the desert met the jungle, and this savannah was more solid than the dunes.
A fire was started, and much of the two guard congregated near it. Æden, in some manner of aloof distance, stayed near his Wyvern, leaned against its side, and ate from his rations in the dark, shaded by the creature from the setting moons. Soon enough the sky would burst in pink and orange, and he would task the ward over his tent to keep out the sunlight before he slept. But not now, when there was no sunlight to protect against.
