It had been... A Trip. The dewy morning with dawn lighting a familiar sight had a sigh of relief push through his lips.
Herostratus felt about fifty years older, even though it had only been a few weeks since he'd left, maybe longer - he wasn't fully sure yet. He hadn't been well enough to travel, after the gash he'd gotten from his latest hunt, was bed bound because every movement reopened the wound. That and he had to be drugged up barely coherent so even if he'd wanted to move, he could mostly only moan and sigh and imagine it.
An event he wasn't keen on repeating. No doubt the healing would have taken months if the village hadn't found a healer to knit his skin and muscles back together. Maybe even died. Or lost his whole arm.
Hero shivered at the idea of just existing while missing a chunk. Would he have been able to move his arm again if it had healed without help? The thoughts swam through his head once he was closer to home, in the stables removing his horses tack and brushing her down, though his movements were slower and careful when he moved his left arm. His breath hitched every now and then and he moved through the pain, knowing that despite it he would be fine.
At least as far as he knew nothing was permanently damaged.
The horse got comfy back in a familiar place after the brushing and Hero rolled his shoulder gently before returning to the barracks to remove his armor and throw his personal things in their designated place for the servants and the help to collect and remove. To clean. Hero sat on his bed and looked down at his hands, thumbs brushing over his finger tips.
How was Rhosiris?
One of the last times he was in his room was when he just flat out embarrassed himself with the elf. Hero flushed, thinking about it, squeezing his eyes shut and turning his head like he was trying to shake the memory out. Were they all still here? Hero wasn't a guard, so he wasn't briefed on guests. He'd have to go seek them out himself.
It was a few hours, noon had long past and it was nearing supper time, when Hero finally felt like he was presentable. Hair washed and tucked back in a nice braid, face clean, though a little tired and bruised looking under his eyes and his cheeks. Hero closed his golden eyes and squared his shoulders, making sure his shirt was tucked into his pants and his boots were tied up. Probably looked far nicer than he had in a very, very long time. Why was he so nervous? Hero felt his insides tighten and his breath felt like it was a little lost.
He'd given the request to a servant. To find the tall golden elf Rhosiris - one of the Regents guests! - with a request to meet at the entrance of the hall. Of course, the instructions were to tell the elf who put in the request. Was that why Hero was so nervous? Because he could be turned down? They weren't a thing, but things had escalated so quickly there couldn't be nothing there. Maybe the elves didn't work like that and they'd never see one another again. At the very least Hero had been hoping for a friend perhaps.
Hero leaned against one of the pillars, rubbing his bicep and moving to squeeze his shoulder with a wince. The wound was gone, a soft ugly scar now, but it still hurt. In an effort to settle the speed his heart was beating at, he kept his head down and played with his hands, his fingers seemingly the most interesting things he'd seen in a long time, judging by the way he was examining them.