Everyone knew the stories
So this was the first... Everyone knew the stories
So this was the first time for DevinThrough the last hours of riding in darkness he had been waiting for the moment of passage, knowing that since they had glimpsed Fort Sinave north of them some time ago, the border had to be near, knowing what lay on the other side
And now, with the first pale light of dawn rising behind them, they had come to the line of boundary cairns that stretched north and south between the two forts, and he had looked up at the nearest of the old, worn, smooth monoliths, and had ridden past it, had crossed the border into Tigana
And he found to his dismay that he had no idea what to think, how to respondHe felt scattered and confusedHe had shivered uncontrollably a few hours ago when they saw the distant lights of Sinave in darkness, his imagination restlessly at workI’ll be home soon, he had told himselfIn the land where I was born
Now, riding west past the cairn, Devin looked around compulsively, searching, as the slow spread
chanel clutch of light claimed the sky and then the tops of hills and trees and finally bathed the springtime world as far as he could see
It was a landscape much like what they had been riding through for the past two daysHilly, with dense forests ranging in the south on the rising slopes, and the mountains visible beyondHe saw a deer lift its head from drinking at a streamIt froze for a minute, watching them, and then remembered to flee
They had seen deer in Certando, too
This is home! Devin told himself again, reaching for the response that should be flowingIn this land his father had met and wooed his mother, he and his brothers had been born, and from here Garin di Tigana had fled northward, a widower with infant sons, escaping the killing anger of YgrathDevin tried to picture it: his father on a cart, one of the twins on the seat beside him, the other, they must have taken turns, in the back with what goods they had, cradling Devin in his arms as they rode through a red sunset darkened by
tiffany knockoff smoke and fires on the horizon
It seemed a false picture in some way Devin could not have explainedOr, if not exactly false, it was unreal somehowThe thing was, it might even be true, it might be exactly true, but Devin didn't knowHe had no memories: of that ride, of this placeThis was home, but it wasn'tIt wasn't really even Tigana through which they rodeHe had never even heard that name until half a year ago, let alone any stories, legends, chronicles of its past
This was the province of Lower Corte; so he had known it all his life
He shook his head, edgy, profoundly unsettledBeside him Erlein glanced over, an ironic smile playing about his lipsWhich made Devin even more irritableAhead of them Alessan was riding aloneHe hadn't said a word since the border
He had memories, Devin knew, and in a way that he was aware was odd or even twisted he envied the Prince those images, however painful they might beThey would be rooted and absolute and shaped of this place which was truly his
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Whatever Alessan was feeling or remembering now would have nothing of the unreal about itIt would all be raw, brutally actual, the trampled fabric of his own lifeDevin tried, riding through the cheerful birdsong of a glorious spring morning, to imagine how the Prince might be feelingHe thought that he could, but only just: a guess more than anything elseAmong other things, perhaps first of all things, Alessan was going to a place where his mother was dyingNo wonder he had urged his horse ahead; no wonder he wasn't speaking now
He is entitled, Devin thought, watching the Prince ride, straight-backed and self-contained in front of themHe's entitled to whatever solitude, whatever release he needsWhat he carries is the dream of a people, and most of them don't even know it
And thinking so, he found himself drawn out of his own confusion, his struggling adjustment to where they wereFocusing on Alessan he found his avenue to passion again to the burning inward response to what had
chanel j12 happened here, and was still happeningEvery hour of every day in the ransacked, broken-down province named Lower Corte
And somewhere in his mind and heart, fruits of a long winter of thought, and of listening in silence as older and wiser men spoke, Devin knew that he was not the first and would not be the last person to find in a single man the defining shape and lineaments for the so much harder love of an abstraction or a dream
It was then, looking all around at the sweep of land under the wide arch of a high blue sky, that Devin felt something pluck at the strings of his heart as if it were a harpHe felt the drumming of his horse's hooves on the hard earth, following fast behind the Prince, and it seemed to Devin that that drumming was with the harp-strings as they galloped
Their destiny was waiting for them, brilliant in his mind like the colored pavilions on the plain of the Triad Games that took place every three yearsWhat they were doing now mattered, it could make a
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