Snippet #2671150

Roland honestly hadn't made much headway in his search for Sir Thomas. He was distracted around every corner, the wonders of this land snatching his attention every time he turned his head. His concern for his friend drove him on, of course. If things were different, he could spend a lifetime here, he felt. They weren't even fully within Fae lands, and already there were wonders he could only dream of. If he couldn't see them, he could feel them. It was an odd feeling, as if the magic of their world was a palpable thing. As if you could taste it in the air.

He had stripped the armor of the Elfenslaga from himself as well, ditching the petticoat and leaving himself in his gambeson, which bore the colors and mark of the Joined Blade. Green and silver. He wore it proudly, and in the hopes it may stay an arrow he would have no chance of stopping. He spotted a peculiar flower. It was hard to describe, unlike any he'd seen in the fields back home. It seemed to shine in the filtering sunlight. He knelt down, examining it. He wanted to touch it, but was afraid to disturb it. He decided just to look for a moment longer, then continue searching for Thomas.

"Roland!"

He spun at the sound of his name. That voice... He remembered it instantly. It was burned into his mind.

"Is that you, fair one?!" He called out, realizing he knew not her name. Wait, how did she know his? He'd not given it.
"I have found your friend, Thomas! He says you call him old, and Sir."
"Sir Thomas!" Roland yelled, dashing towards the voice.