None of them exchanged any words as they left behind Caligula for good. Nero leaned back against the Prince, fast asleep in the saddle. The boy was bundled up tightly in a thick traveling cloak, which had near become a necessity with the drop in the temperature.
Early morning light streamed through the forest in an attempt to beat back the frost that clung to every surface it could.
Atlas exhaled, his own breath visible in the cool air. 'Winter will be here soon,' the Prince tells himself silently. 'Hopefully we will have reached the desert by that time.'
He rubs his arms in an attempt to ward off the chill. "You should wear something other then just a vest," Illia tells him. "You're going to catch your death, Atlas." The thief smiles, mischief dancing in his amber eyes.
"I had no idea that you were so worried about me," teases Atlas. "I'm flattered." She shook her head in response to his teasing. "I will be just fine, Illia. Thank you for your concern."
"Yeah, thanks for the concern, lady," chimes Nero, shifting a bit in the saddle. "I'm not cold at all, either." Atlas and Nizel both laughed a bit.
"There is no point in complaining about things we cannot control," says Kale, adjusting his spectacles. "Nizel, what town can we expect to come upon next?"
"That would be Unda, at the edge of the desert," responds Nizel. "It will be a weeks time, maybe more. We'll spend much of that time crossing the Vulpus Plains. When we reach Unda, we'll need to gather as many supplies as possible there before we begin our crossing to Aer."
"How long will the crossing take?"
"Hard to say. I made the crossing with a caravan the last time. It was a fortnight, at a hard pace. That is, of course, assuming we do not encounter any of the roaming tribes or bandits. Barring any such incidents it may be more or it may be less depending on how hard we ride."
"We don't need to run our horses to death," comments Atlas, patting the neck of his black mount. "They've been rather cooperative considering the cold weather, wouldn't you agree?" Nizel nodded in agreement. "At any rate, I assume we'll be needing lighter clothes for the desert, right?"
"Yes, we will." An hour passed in silence and some warmth was beginning to return to the frosted world. Illia had drifted back to ride beside Atlas, the two not exchanging any words until the amazon broke the silence.
"What do you most remember about your childhood, Atlas?" asks Illia. The question caught him off guard completely. It wasn't that he didn't want to discuss his past it was that none cared to hear about it. The Prince simply shrugged in response. "There must be something."
"I...don't know," responds Atlas. "I remember plenty of things about my childhood, but none that are particularly interesting." He shifts his weight in the leather saddle, mindful of Nero reclining back against him. "Why are you suddenly so interested?"
"Humor me." A sigh escapes his lips and he looks over at her.
"Solitude."
"That is it? Solitude?"
"I was living on the streets. Not many people paid me much mind, so I spent a lot of time alone." Atlas sighs and looks away from her for a moment. "What about you? What do you remember?"
"Training. As far back as I can remember, I trained to be a soldier like everyone else."
"Tell me about your people, Illia."
"What do you wish to know?"
"How about you teach me your language?" Her brows knitted together in confusion. "What?"
"Why would you want to speak my language? Most everyone speaks Solarian. It is the language of trade."
"Why not?" Illia sighs a bit.
"It could take some time."
"It's a LONG way to Aer..."
- - -
Atlas squatted low to the ground and stretched out one leg against the ground before shifting his weight to that leg and stretching the other. He could feel the muscles tightening up after such a long ride and it irritated him.
"Atlas," calls Nizel, approaching him. "I didn't wish to say anything in front of the others, but...it appears we're being followed." Atlas stands and glances in the direction they had come from.
"You're sure?" asks Atlas, resorting to Nizel's own language. If Solarian was the language of trade, then Maeror was most definitely the language of smugglers.
Spoken by nearly all the tribes in the deserts surrounding Aer, it was a necessity to move things to and from places as quickly as possible. Atlas had learned enough from Nizel to get by in most ventures.
But he was by no means fluent in it's use. "Not completely...but I suggest that we stay on our guard." He nodded in agreement.
"What are you two speaking about?" questions Nero, looking between the two. "Is that Nizel's language?"
"Yes," responds Nizel, speaking so the boy could understand him. "Occasionally, I enjoy speaking in my own language...or else I might begin to get a bit rusty in it's use." He seemed skeptical to say the least but didn't say anything more on it. Atlas approached Illia, placing a hand on her shoulder and stepping around to speak in a low voice.
"Nizel believes we're being followed," Atlas informs her. "Have you noticed anything?" She glances back at him and shakes her head. "Huh." He meets her eye's. "I...want to thank you for yesterday. For helping me."
"I understand, Atlas," responds Illia. "The desire for revenge is a powerful thing to feel. But in the future...just ignore it. If you get killed then I'll have to kill whoever it was that killed you. That'll make more trouble for me, understand?" He flashed a grin and nodded.
