Cirque

Cirque never had a charge.

That wasn't to say that he hadn't looked. He had looked, scouring the edges of Sorienth in his youth, searching for that something or that someone or that someplace that would give his life its ultimate purpose. Yet no matter how hard he searched, how closely he scrutinized every little thing, he never found anything that called to him distinctly. He never found anything that begged for his protection.

Over the years, he found himself here.

Somehow, in spite of everything, and in spite of finding himself at odds with his own breed, he found himself here--at the edge of the Arcane domain, situated beside the wandering contagion. Luminous lavender crystals erected themselves firmly along one edge of this land, retaining the sickness of home with a glimmering, sanitized magic. The plague wouldn't be able to pass through there, but down south was a different story, down south was a passageway bare and open for anything to pass through. He would know--that's how he found himself here.

He was so close to home, and yet this place was so different from what he remembered. It hadn't been endless years since he'd last seen his homeland, the barren wastes of the Plaguebringer's domain, bordering that sickly cocktail she brewed in the center. In fact, it hadn't even been weeks since he flew by the boneyards. Hadn't been days since he debated swooping down upon a crowd of Mirrors, scavenging, merely trying to survive.

He didn't, of course, because he'd learned to be kind.

He always found it strange how this place was so different in spite of how close his home was. This place was lush--filled with so much life that it sang in the trees and blossomed fresh in the air. If there was decay here, then it was smothered by the lush overgrowth of these lavender woods. The sun beat down gently from above, filtering down between the leaves, and unlike the brutal heat of the empty wastes, he was comfortable.

This is better, he thought comfortably, sipping his tea. I could stay here.

There was no pull, no call to action, no burning desire to protect or lay waste to whatever may come. The thought was soft, serene, pleasant on the mind, and though he vaguely tried to reach out and touch it, roll the thought over in his mind, he couldn't find any indication that this was his charge.

He was always told that he'd know what it was when he found it. It seemed he still hadn't, but that was quite all right.

He stopped caring about finding his charge long, long ago. He was getting old now, scales beginning to flake, muscles growing sore, wings aching the longer he took flight. He hadn't found his charge yet, and long ago, he began to think with heartbreaking sorrow that he never would.

Now, he still might never find his charge. But that was all right. If it was destiny or fate for him to find his charge, then he was sure he'd find it eventually.

Now, though? Now was the time to relax and be happy. Cirque hummed to himself, softly humming, soft, sipping his tea.

The tea tasted nice.