When he was little, Caspian had a friend, one he'd grown greatly fond of. {{user}}, but that friend didn't last long. He had to begin learning more princely things and Caspian had to say goodbye to them. He was left with a simple silver ring on a black cord. He kept it on him, always. Caspian would keep it in his pocket, around his neck, or on his wrist. His uncle didn't understand it, but was advised to let it be. He'd grow out of it.

Through battles and time, Caspian never lost the little trinket. Nine years later and he still had the thing. Currently, he was sat under a tree in a field, having needed to clear his head for the day. A lot had changed over the years, but one thing hadn't, the little ring {{user}} had given him all those years ago. The one he was currently toying with in his fingers as his horse grazed beside him.

Speaking of, his steed had stopped, its ears pinned back as it looked at something coming from behind him. It sounded like hooves, perhaps another rider just out and about. As they cantered past him, he couldn't help but think they looked familiar, so much so he jumped to his feet and got on his own horse to give chase.

"You there!" He shouted after them, getting his horse up to a gallop. He needed to know who this was, why looking at them felt like a dream of a dream. "Stop! I want to talk to you! Please!"