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“I think we should move the third platoon to the right field…” said nine-year old Flanair, while he scratched a wide circle on the dirt-battlefield in front of him with a stick. He waited to see if the boy across from him disagreed with his strategy.

“Uh huh.”

Taking that as a yes, the slate-haired boy continued on. “As for the defense units, we should station them near the castle in case the enemy has defeated the first unit. Don’t you think so?”

“Uh huh.”

Raising an eyebrow at the repeated reply, Flanair made another circle along with an arrow on the dry dirt. He was wondering why his playmate didn’t disagree with that. Usually, he would say that that plan was too obvious and to move it to the third field. The nine-year old’s brilliant green-blue eyes peeked under his mussed bangs at his friend for the first time since they started the game.

Flanair’s breath stilled when he noticed how Hiver’s powerful piercing stare was directed at him. This wasn’t the first time he had noticed this, though. It had happened many times before. Yet little Flanair did not understand the meaning behind it. Not that he had hated it.

For some reason, the prince’s being had always made his heart jump and his hands unsteady. Flanair had admitted to himself when no one was around that Hiver was quite handsome for an eleven year old, for he had shed his baby fat and looked striking in noble’s clothing during the summer, while his younger playmate still had a little pudge and still wore hand-me-downs from older servants. Flanair couldn’t help but notice how dazzling those golden orbs had looked at him so affectionately like his mother had or how there was always a warm grin reserved just for him.

Breaking out of his reflections, he prodded his friend on the shoulder. “Hiver… It’s getting late.” It was getting late. Flanair knew that if he didn’t get the young prince home before dark, he’d be flogged. It was his duty as attendant to make sure the prince was to be safe, even at the cost of his life. But Flanair was willing to give up his life for his one true friend, unlike any of the other villagers around here. Even Flanair, being the nine-year old he is, noticed the ever increasing tension between the royal family and its subjects.

Finally, after a few more prods and a pinched nose, Hiver snapped out of his reverie and rubbed his face where Flanair had pinched him. He avoided the green-blue eyes that looked at him disapprovingly, yet still held a glint of mischief. Sighing, he ran a hand through his perfectly cut platinum locks and looked sheepishly at a huffing Flanair. “I apologize... I wasn’t paying attention. But you didn’t really have to pinch my nose, did you?”

“I had to since you wouldn’t stop staring at me. Either way…” The boy stood up with an unhappy pout and stuck out his arm at his companion, “… we need to get home before your father gives me the whip.”

Hiver grabbed the offered hand and pulled himself up, a light tint of red spread across his cheeks when Flanair had noticed him staring. He couldn’t help but smile at Flanair’s childish pout, ruffling the boy’s already mussed hair some more. As the shorter boy tried to pull his hand away, Hiver complied by twining their fingers together in what could be sign of affection. Flanair looked at him with questioning eyes that asked for an explanation for the close gesture.

He shrugged nonchalantly and replied with a simple ‘I don’t want you to get lost’, earning a snort and a tug of the arm towards the direction of the castle.

“If I’m ever lost, I’ll know you’ll find me,” said the slate-haired boy, his clear eyes seeking apprehension from Hiver’s. “Am I right?”

A smile and a chuckle. “Yes, of course.” Hiver looked up at the mix of reds, oranges, and magentas in the ever darkening sky. “I will always find you…”




Owari…?