Cyrus' eyes narrowed in malice. How could he have been so foolish as to let this happen to him? The young prince gritted his teeth together angrily. It wasn't a wonder why his brothers looked down upon him so! frustrated tears began to form, and Cyrus glared at the sands, trying to grasp what he had gotten himself into! He didn't want to believe what the other man was saying at all. For all he knew, Rulan was probably lying. Oh, how the princed wished that was the case!

"Yes, it is most likely, if you are telling the truth..." Though clearly angry and on the verge of tears, Cyrus was able to speak clearly. It was idiotic of him to succumb to his greed. He could have gone back, maybe received help from a sorcerer or a shaman. But he had to do it himself, and taking the wing was not easy. Though the thought of flying was most appealing, he didn't like the risk factor. And he wouldn't become king if he was a lion, winged or otherwise.

No matter what, there had to be a loophole. Cyrus wasn't afraid to trry and find it, but he had done enough for one night. If he didn't try, then he could be stuck with this, this Casseion for the rest of his mortal life. "Well, then we'd better... better get comfortable with one another. Shall we take our leave...?" Cyrus tried to speak valiantly, but only sounded pathetic and sightly weak. Despite everything, his eyes still had their royal fire.

Rulan had expected more anger. He'd expected to be called names and spat upon, or at least a demand to undo what had been done. But what he saw instead was a glisten in the young prince's eye and a dejected waver in his voice. The Casseion could have thrived on a shouting match or a fistfight, but this was something he could scarcely deal with.

His expression darkened; he drew the cloak closer around himself. "You're in a bid to be king, aren't you?" he asked articulately, almost hissing. "That's why you want the feather: someone's sent you for it, and hasn't told you what it's for. You're so easily manipulated I'm shocked you haven't been assassinated -- not that anyone would bother. If I had less of a heart you'd have been eaten an hour ago. You wouldn't make it home without me, and I'm embarrassed to be seen with you, but as long as I'm stuck with you I won't stand for any more sniveling or whining. Stand up straight," he barked, "and lead the way."

He decided then and there that he would make a king out of Cyrus, whatever it took. Rulan could not spend the rest of his life in such miserable, inept company. If Cyrus truly was a prince with a real claim on the throne, then he should be made to earn it. Rulan would much rather stand by the side of a competent king than a weak-hearted prince.

As Cyrus was left feeling sorry for himself, Rulan interrupted his train of thought. Turning his gaze to the Casseion, the desert prince was a little surprised, which was evident in his wide eyes. A student could be told a thousand times about the ferocity of a lion, but until they met with one face-to-face, all that terrifying demeanor would be nothing but words.

Currently, he was confronted with the cruel, harsh words of Rulan. He did note that the curse that had been placed upon him would probably make Rulan more miserable. The thought made a smile creep upon his face. Though he too was a victim, Rulan seemed to be really irritated; his face was twisted into an even more terrifying expression.

Simply, it was like a slap in the face. Cyrus really wasn't brave enough to talk down to a Casseion with their fanged smiles and fearless persona. He decided then that this young man would be a burden. If he was to deal with the other male's snide remarks, as if he was some sort of twisted commentary, for he rest of his life, Cyrus would most certainly go crazy.

He nodded half-heartedly. "Shut up." He said softly, though he did as he was told and straightened his back. "Let's go. We have to travel all night to make of to Blackfoot." He said, referencing the nearest town. Knowing he didn't have to wait, Cyrus began to walk.

Rulan sneered irritably, but he went along with the prince's orders and padded silently after him, the cloak held around himself like a king's cape. He peered around him at the darkened houses of the village; the fact that he'd lost his night-vision along with his wings was maddening. His stomach growled, and he thought of those goats and sheep that had got away into the mountains, and the fact that he'd never get to sink his teeth into pulsing hot flesh again. For a moment he wondered whether being human was really worth all the planning of these centuries past.

"What was your plan, anyway?" he asked after a long while of walking in silence. The Casseion was cold and hungry and angry; he could gather a little satisfaction by ensuring that Cyrus was even more miserable than he was. "You hid among a lion's prey with a stick for a weapon and no armor. What did you think was going to happen? Were you going to poke me until I cried mercy? Or maybe you would stare me to death! Or maybe you'd hoped I would recognize your godly right to the throne and bow at your royal feet." He snorted. "Have you ever actually fought with that stick of yours? Have you ever been in danger for your life until tonight?"

Noticing that the lion- the other man's stomach growled, Cyrus snickered despite his new burden. "You should have eaten first, Rulan..." The prince advised uselessly as they continued to walk into the desert. There was sand in his shoes, but he didn't care. The prince loved having the earth brush against him. The desert was an ocean of earth... it was what he wanted to rule and protect forever. Even though he lived his life in the palace, it didn't hide him from the desert. The royal palace had big, uncovered windows that allowed sand to sweep in on the ground floor. It gave the place a very unique look. As the Casseion spoke, Cyrus looked bemusedly, snapped out of his absent state.

"I thought... If I asked nicely you would give me one." Cyrus admitted naively before blushing profusely. How stupid! Did he really just say that? His eyes glittered to the ground as he listened humbly to the other male, whose tongue was as sharp as his teeth. "W-Well, you see... I've taken fencing lessons... uh..." He gritted his teeth. Nobody had ever made him feel so hot and furious before, excluding his better-than-you brothers. "No! I never had to fight for my life, because people don't hate me! And I wanted to cut off your head, snickety-snack!" He shouted angrily before thinking if he could somehow kill Rulan. He then bit his lip. That was wrong of the future king...

"Snickety .... what?" Rulan's eyes were half-lidded, his voice dull. He suddenly lashed out and grabbed Cyrus' sword; he slashed it about in the air with one hand while the other was pressed against the prince's skull to hold him back. "You couldn't break the skin with this thing, let alone snick any snacks. It's a toothpick." After a few more swipes, he tossed the weapon, caught it by the blade and shoved the hilt into Cyrus' chest. "No self-respecting king would be caught dead -- or rather, he will be caught dead if he relies on a stick for protection." He folded the cloak down and tied it around his waist so he could have his arms free.

"Don't tell anyone else you took fencing lessons. It's embarrassing." He was searching the edges of the road, looking for any paths that might lead to a place where he could get some proper clothes and an actual weapon. "And there's always someone who hates you," he added offhandedly, distracted by thoughts of raw dripping meat and a blade to cut it with. "Whoever sent you to get this feather, for example. You never told me exactly why you're here. How much farther are we going to walk?"

Cyrus struggled futilely as he tried to get his sword back. He huffed out in annoyance. Everything this lion said got him mad! The prince had been disliked by a few people, of course. There were his brothers, a few servants, and even a few council members who weren't too fond of him. Though his brothers were quite competitive with him, none were was rude to do this to him! Taunt and just be a disagreeable one. Though he was royalty, Cyrus was a teenager first. So it was with the utmost class that he ground his teeth together, practically seething with anger.

But what could he possibly do? Relin had him right where he wanted him, and Cyrus was determined not to let this Casseion win! Even if it was harder, the end result would be much more desirable. "In this kingdom, to prove his worth, a boy hailing from a noble family is required to complete an impossible task, bestowed upon him by the Royal Council." Cyrus said as calmly as he could manage.

"As heir to the throne, I had seven tasks. This is my first." The thought of having to be linked with every single creature he came across was terrible! It was bad enough the winged lion only gave him a single feather. "They don't necessarily hate me, as you put it. It's their job to find a task fit for a prince. And were not dfar now. Only am few more miles, I believe."

Rulan trudged along beside the angry prince with a dull look on his face. His mouth twitched.

"So you're telling me," he began slowly, with a slight growl of disbelief, "that a noble son spends his life growing up in a bubble of high walls and tipped rapiers, never exposed to the outside world. And to make up for the complete lack of life experience he's shoved into a lion pit with a stick and a pair of fancy shoes and told not to come out til he's pulled all their teeth." What kind of bizarre, pompous assholes were these people who ran the world now? What happened to logic and discipline and princes who knew the difference between life and death? "These quests you're on are what we call hazing. It doesn't mean shit about your character or your worth, they're just a test of how gullible you are." His own family would roll over in their graves if they heard this was the sort of thing that proved the worth of a king. He set his jaw and glared into the darkness ahead.

"As long as you think you're obligated to carry out these useless kiddie-dares, I'm obviously obligated to go with you. And as long as I'm around there'll be no more toothpicks or fancy shoes. You'll handle these things the way I tell you. The right way."

Cyrus sighed in defeat. Though other nobles such as his brother might have wanted to prolong the conversation until they were victorious, he had no such interests. Rulan's words still bugged him, but he would find a way to deal with them- and the speaker- in due time. For now, he was left with a curse he would have to deal with. Though it would be pretty satisfying to bring the Casseion home only to have him be pelted with poison arrows, but if what he said was true, that probably wasn't in his best interests. Though morning was breaking, casting a colorful ray of light across the ever shifting sands. However, after Rulan was finished speaking, Cyrus cast a gaze back. It wasn't aggressive, and it wasn't giddy. He was a bit afraid to smile or really do anything around the man for fear he would be chastised harshly. "Very well then." He nodded before continuing, knowing that Blackfoot was nearby.

In about half an hour, the pair arrived in the scattered desert town of Blackfoot. This part of the land was mostly level, so he had no qualms with walking so far. In the far East, however, most of the roads traversed great mountain ranges and other such atrocities. The town was fairly small, and their homes were fashioned of red clay and some other substances. At any rate, they appeared in block shapes. "This is the town. Let's rest for a little bit before departing for the capital..." He said softly before heading to a particularly tall building that should have been an inn. The buildings appeared to be very hard, like stone.

Rulan winced. This "town" was nothing more than red clay boxes. It hadn't occurred to him before now that he would be expected to sleep indoors. With humans around, stinking up the place. He still thought of them as another species.

He stopped, peering at the door to a particularly unsavory looking box, which Cyrus seemed intent on going into. "Why don't you go rest," he said in a low voice. "I'll sleep out here." The road under the stars sounded a thousand times better than a stinking blanket under a closed clay roof that could cave in on him any moment. He sat down in the sand to make his point, the cloak pulled around him.

It also hadn't escaped his thoughts that Cyrus could easily and simply have him killed, given the opportune moment. There was nothing that would prevent the prince from doing so: Rulan's death would simply release Cyrus from the spell. The Casseion had been trying his best to appear useful to Cyrus' cause, that maybe it would be in Cyrus' best interest that Rulan continued to live. That last look, and the tone of Cyrus' voice, had Rulan worried.