Arcanae

Chpt. 03 // Sunset Summit

Only a short duration of time managed to slip us by before Petyr expressed his desire to depart again, "Cynthia," he yawned, "Let's go home. Ella must be awaiting our return shortly," finished the boy, eyes closed momentarily as he gave into his exhaustion.

I tilted my head, and a touch of worry clearly resonated in my voice, "Are you completely certain that you will last the entire ride?"

He raised his shoulders in a shrug, "I'll be fine," commented Petyr, fully confident in his abilities. "You need not worry about me."

I cleared my throat with a shallow cough, "Well, quite frankly, I am concerned," I answered, briefly examining his appearance. His posture had changed, slouching in place; it seemed like his entire body was weighing him down. Even the bags below his brown eyes were abnormally dark. "You don't look well, Petyr; you're tired."

Petyr brushed it off, "So what if I'm sleep-deprived and worn out?

"Then I am utmost certain Ella and your siblings would want you to rest up." I retorted.

He turned away, "I will rest - but not here, Cynthia," he whined, two tears welled up in his eyes - sparkling in the radiant, golden glow. "I'm glad I came here, but I still don't feel comfortable. I won't get any peace of mind until I'm far away."

Only then did I spot it when Petyr faced me again.

The sheer pain was present on full display in his eyes.

I had been an insolent fool for not realising sooner.

"I'm sorry, Petyr." I hastily apologised, adding, "Let us ride back to the Manor."

The boy nodded in agreement, wiping away his founding tears.

We strode to the horses as Petyr muttered a soft-spoken "Thank you."

I gracefully mounted Rosemary, whereas Petyr attempted the same again, although lacking finesse. But in the end, he crawled his way on top of his stead and got a hold of the reigns.

Our homeward journey had commenced.

Before I knew it, half an hour had passed us by swiftly.

A cold, salt-tinged air prickled my nostrils.

We had left the Maple Grove through its northern border and now rode parallel to the Cold Beach's elongated shoreline. I had previously not paid much attention to our environment, instead focusing solely on Petyr - making doubly sure he'd hold onto the reigns tightly.

As our strode continued, I shivered along the way with every hoove tapping the soil beneath. The frost-touched shoreline had its namesake for good reason; the closer we got, the further the temperature dropped and the stronger the chill breezes became.

I glanced at the ocean. The waves, for a change, appeared to be able to reach my waist barely. The sea was calm today, permitting the sight of jagged icebergs further down the horizon. Countless ocean-bound hazards surrounded Crescent Isle: the Drowner's Sorrow, the Hoarfroast Reefs, and the odd, out-of-place shallow waters.

Each attribute narrowed down the possibilities of constructing a dock, and as such, only the Wharf existed.

A sudden gust of air whipped up and blew through my hair; sending a chill from my scalp down to my toes immediately. Goosebumps spread across my skin like wildfire. The sensation was all too familiar. Ah, it brought me back to the end of the last Storm Season - how I, along with plentiful townsfolk, all dipped into those frigid waters to celebrate.

It was an odd form of festivities, though, at this point in time, it had been ingrained and firmly rooted within our community.

I looked off to my side, watching Petyr pull a hand to his mouth in a poor attempt to cover up a yawn. His eyes were round no longer. Instead, they were reduced to mere slits - barely able to bare the light of day. Meanwhile, his posture appeared weakened, on the verge of - no, he was slouching.