Island of Adnia 2: Rivers of Deceive

CHAPTER II: THE GLEAMING SIEGE (5)

CHAPTER II: THE GLEAMING SIEGE (5)       

The cold gaze of the dark night held the submerged duality between the yellowish fields. The creatures galloped like sticky iguanas; who were leaning on the stones of the narrow and rushing meadow. The Prince was running in the distance, and seeing one of the six-legged beasts, he quickly climbed Pasithea onto it, and then Pasithea mounted on the back of it. The scant divinity that remained in the surroundings was enough for the duality to believe in it, and they huddled among the currents of the desolate night. The prince put on his blue and embroidered cape from behind, and it functioned as a singular shield that blocked all the arrows that attacked in their perpendicular attack. The prince emanated dozens of powerful spells, those that glimpsed and illuminated the night of insatiable might. The duality led a rocky and steep path, but they continued the strange paths, transversal and diagonal, because they confused the parody of revenge, while they led them to the edge of the meadow, in the robust lineaments of the mountain.

"Dawn falls on the horizon!" Pasithea exclaims.

"We must continue!" exclaims Iram. "Until we reach the Jungles of Demanor."

"Which?" exclaims Iram.

"Just keep driving the beast down the mountain road!" exclaims Iram. "We are very close to the barracks!"

The creature continued the nearby roads to the south. It was driven with exhaustive and somewhat telepathic power. The prince connected with the mind of the creature, and although it did not know the parts that it traveled, Iram could use the instincts of the Grenlon to his advantage; they roamed the nearby groves. Dozens of meadows began to open to his eyes, and a set of forgotten barracks was seen on the descent of the mound.

A path opened in front of them, while spears and arrows flew over their exposed heads, the dawn was clear and concise when suddenly, the beast is wounded in one of its legs; goes through with pressures of pain and misery through the ruthless stabbing weapon; painfully reigniting the creature's nerves with electricity and wicked intentions. It cries out in pain, just like the prince's mind does when he feels his en ace, he disconnects his energy from the beast, it trips over one of the nearby rocks and throws duality down the hill; although the fall was short, his limbs hit the trees and bushes significantly. They fell into a trap of lost groves. They lost their direct way into the jungles. And the ambush was swift and evident in moments, for the Wiwoks were now riding over them, and the path to the laurels of the southeastern jungle was now impossible for descent without the creature.

"Now what?!" Pasithea exclaims, agitated.

"Toward the left!" Iram replies.

The Prince of the South was dressed in full dress. His grandeur was clothed in glory. His leadership was urged on with courage. His dignity was projected as the majesty of the moment. His vision was compromised, fierce. His stubbornness was incorruptible, for his wishes for escape were now personal. The vicissitude of the construction of an impossible path was perpetuated in a spiral around the descending mountains, and while the man received dozens of lethal arrows at the speed of the sound of death, he guided the woman through the narrow and lateral paths of the forest. . A path made by himself, in the years served by his upbringing with the owner of the plasma. A path for the kings of the south, those united to the mysticism of the unpredictable, and the dynasty blessed by the misunderstood paths for the confused mortal.

Agitated, they managed to lose themselves among the swaying paths; the hidden barracks, between the spirals of destiny, and between the secrecy of a path that deepened and covered itself, until it reached the depth of the caves of this. They found a delirious and narrow corridor, which led them to the entrance of some hidden cavities between the deep and unknown earth. A secret passage, made by your own hands. They settled into the rising darkness. Between the deep curtains. Above them were a dozen fallen logs. An improvisation that managed to shelter its moving shadows from frustrated creatures.

"They left?" Pasithea asks.

"It is impossible to tell, they are far above us now" exclaims Iram.

"What was that with that giant lizard?" Pasithea exclaims. "Were you on her mind?"

"It was in her soul." Iram replies.

Hearts slowed down. The agitated footsteps of the Wiwoks were not heard even in the near distance. The company was inside the depths of a cave that was only illuminated by the small rays of light that penetrated through the holes that proliferated around the logs lying above them. It c they joined, and sat down. They re-lit a fire, this time with less intensity, with less enthusiasm, but before the harmony of a new dawn, which was now only delicately proclaimed through the small tubes of light that reached them.

"How did you do that?" Pasithea asks.

"What thing?" exclaims Iram.

"That with his soul," Pasithea exclaims. "I mean, how can you connect with the integrity of these beasts?"

“Secrets of violet magic,” Iram replies, “alone, my father learned to do these things. By discovering the real nature of plasma. It has taught me everything I know. That is why I owe him my life, and I do not intend to betray him. "

“Our path must end at Laguna de Quivel,” Iram responds, agitated. "I don't know why I'm getting in so much trouble with you."

"Why do you have to be so tense?"

"What don't you understand woman?" exclaims Iram. “I know the temperament of the gods. I know Amsiret convinced my father, and if he ever sees me with you, it will be chaos as you know it. You will lose all confidence in me. I am risking too much. "

“He doesn't have to be mad at you,” Pasithea exclaims. “Besides, how are you so sure that this alliance has come about? Arach hates Amsiret. "

"But he loved Marlina!" exclaims Iram.

There was a simple silence in the darkroom. The prince of the south, he sat up slowly, after his brisk walk.

"He loved Marlina, more than everything he’d ever known." Iram responds. "He always did. My mother knew it, and she had to carry it, until her death. "

"Why isn't much known about your mother?"

"Because the true story was not spread in the north," exclaims Iram. “Because the north does not recognize the value of the First Queen of Aravir. Because the north is not convenient for you to know, the deceitful, treacherous, and destructive truth of Marlina. Do you think you know what pain is? Do you think you know what the war was? They don't know anything! "

"Iram, calm down," Pasithea responds. "I am not the best to judge anyone, but if the truth is not spoken by those who know it, how do you expect others to practice it?"

The woman slowly sat down next to the man. Her energy was beautiful. Their harmony soothed the prince's heart, and her sincerity in exploring the feelings of the son of the south melted her into layers and layers of certainty; compassion invaded her spirit, and her vulnerable story opened before her, without her realizing it. Without wanting to open this. Without wanting to meditate on that.

"What happened to your mother?" Pasithea asks.