Quis Custodiet Ipsos Custodes
Quis Custodiet Ipsos Custodes?
A Zento Fanfic of Sorts
Tying the fraying golden rope about the days final bundle of red durum wheat, Tyrael wiped the sweat from his brow as he watched the sun sink beneath the mountains, orange hues dying and fading to obscene purples and, soon, darkness. Overhead, the Swainsons Thrushes were returning to their breeding grounds in northern Altama, the white of their underbellies speckled with red from their violent throat markings. Calming waves of Spring spread across the lands, frosts thawing, animals emerging from hiding, ready to foster new generations.
That should do it, Tyreal thought to himself, drawing deep breaths as he sat in the field, recovering from the days labor. Lengthy grasses and seedlings embraced his burlap trousers, which were belted with a similar cord to the ones adorning the bundles of wheat. A cool breeze, the low, silent kind that accompanie