Inasmuch as Frumious considered himself an owner of possessions, the globe of light was one of the few things that was his. It was loyal only to his commands, and seemed to shy away from the handling of his compatriots, even Grigor, who Frumious no longer was ashamed to admit was more knowledgeable about certain things than he was, particularly when it came to magic.
Over the course of the last few days, however, Frumious had learned that this particular sphere of illumination wasn't a something so much as it was a someone. He had identified himself as Percival.
Now, about that pronoun "He:" The only other Percival whom Frumious had ever heard of came from a story that Linna used to tell the Hawthorne brood of a certain age. Sitting around the fire after supper and chores and Libram studies were complete, Linna would gather Porter, April, Jolene, Frumious, and Mercy onto the hearth carpet and spin the tale of a First-World knight and champion of Omnos, the gnome who ventured forth into dark forests and foreboding caverns, ever in search of innocents in need of strength and a symbol to reward their faith. Linna had a habit of combining old-world folklore and neo-Omnian concepts, but the stories rarely suffered for it. Against the walls behind her, the flickering firelight put on an impromptu shadow puppet play, and Frumious would often see the brave knight Percival raise his sword against bears, dragons, and other terrifying beasts.
Percival was a good name. The archon might not be a champion, but Frumious liked knowing that he was always around, looking out for him. He took comfort in his musical sing-song voice, was enamored of both his ambition and accompanying self-doubt, and now that the two long-time companions were acquainted, Frumious could almost convince himself that Percival now glowed brighter than he ever had before.
May he rest in eternal slumber.
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