Their family had grown quiet. The golden prince had certainly been no help, but even as a child he had often preferred keeping to himself. He had always felt a pressure to be what he thought Nardir wanted him to be: their proud and noble Prince. He could never admit it, but there had been occasions where he wondered how different things would be if he were born to a non-royal family. What kind of man he would grow up to be. He couldn't bear the thought of disappointing his parents, of befouling the royal bloodline of Nardir. He had re-emerged before he became too ashamed of himself - there was no place for a hermit prince.

The man let out a long sigh.

He may not have believed in Nardir's Goddess (unless the people of this moon-blessed place expected it of him), but he always found a comfort in the night. He was not scared of the shadows, of the darkness that loomed around him. But whether it was some kind of powerful being or not, the silver moon that hung above him always lit up the path for him. And his pelt nearly glowed in it's light, a golden ghost that now roamed around Nardir with practiced ease. In his travels of the night, he had collected a relatively large stone, smooth and round and white as ivory. Carrying it in his mouth, he paused outside the royal den. He wasn't sure why - it wasn't where he planned to go, but passing by it had perked his curiousity. It had been a long time since he had slept in there.

He decided to move on, not wanting to disturb his family and unaware of any attention he may have garnered.

Disappearing into the thick forest to the north, Zaniah finally stopped in the center of a circle of stones, surrounded by thousands of poppies. Quietly, he placed the stone down in Nardir's graveyard, and stood there, staring at it.

He did not know anyone who was buried here.

But this was something he wanted to do. Maybe there were some naturally noble traits in Zaniah after all.