Arcanae

Chpt. 03 // Sunset Summit

His grip on the reigns waned.

Petyr slipped in place, off to the side, as I steered Rosemary closer to him. I tried to prevent him from falling off- though he was too heavy for me.

"Petyr!" I shrieked - a touch of worry coating my voice.

He shot straight back up in his saddle, eyes widened; a shocked expression plastered onto his face. "I-" he tightened his grasp on the reigns. Then, he looked at me, barely capable of resisting the urge to fall asleep. "I'm sorry, I'm so tired."

I could understand. We had barely stopped on our way back to the Wharf. Not to mention, at long last, he finally came to terms with the emotional trauma that had been gnawing on his consciousness for years- it had all taken its toll.

The boy was leagues beyond simply being tired; he was downright exhausted

"You should rest soon," I remarked.

Petyr agreed somewhat, "Once I've returned home, I will sleep off the exhaustion. I promise."

Something wavered in the wind betwixt the treelines: a maroon sail of a nearby windmill. I had not realised it previously; however, we had already reached the Red Orchard.

An idea came to mind, "Let's stop by the Orchard, regain some strength and resume our ride afterwards."

Hesitancy sparked alive in Petyr's eyes, likely contemplating his options; only a soft mutter managed to escape his mouth.

I narrowed my eyes, furrowing my brows as my tone went cold, more demanding. "Actually, it was not much of a request." A brief pause slipped between my sentences, " I will not sit by idly while you remain a risk for your health and safety."

Giving in, Petyr huffed, "Fine. Doesn't really matter too much if we arrive half an hour later."

Before long, we entered the westernmost section of the Patchwork Fields, drawing ever closer to the Red Orchard upon the bordering section with the Grove. A broad clearing was atop the rolling hills overlooking the remainder of the Fields.

A dozen or so windmills stuck out like a sore thumb from the environment. The saturated cherry wood aesthetic, white accents, and maroon sails made it perfect for its namesake.

There were not many people here, only a few workers who had seemingly decided to remain here despite the festivities over at the Wharf. We scanned - or rather I did whilst Petyr absent-mindedly examined the clouds - the area and found a deserted spot adjacent to a nearby pond.

We dismounted the horses, leaving them to wander about for some time.

Petyr and I took a few steps down a steep stair and found a comfortable spot beneath an apple tree overlooking the great harbour and Ashwood Peninsula on the far horizon.

Petyr slouched back against the tree bark in mere moments, his head hanging weakly over his left shoulder - long since succumbing to his exhaustion.

I let out a brief chuckle, whispering, "Sleep soft, buddy."

After all this time, I knew his tells down to each minute difference.

With a smile plastered on my face, I swept a quick glance across the area to take in the sight of the various orchards. However, something else caught my eye, as per usual. Beyond the Wharf, towards the easternmost edges of the island; there laid the Sacred Mountains.

It was a marvellous sight all year round. Its snow-capped peaks jabbed into the sky, piercing the very clouds. A handful of glaciers were running down the side, melting a few hundred metres above sea level and continuing forth in a liquid state.