[open] the way you kiss me will work each time // Any

[Rhaegor]

and I could easily lose my mind; the way you kiss me will work each time
calling me to come back to bed, singing Georgia on my mind

He's an idiot for getting sick. With wings atop his back, a plague-free kingdom to call home, and a plague-free kingdom to call his second home, Rhae really could have avoided this thing. As it is, he just had to go and have a melodramatic moment, not only in Hyaline, but also in the forest. It's a miracle that he didn't get Valdis sick, but his sister seems to be resilient to all kinds of things (including his own dense-headedness, given the fact that she'd turned a blind eye to him all but attacking her father).

A bone-rattling cough shakes the prince from these thoughts, sending his muzzle to his chest as he doubles over until the attack passes. Inhaling shakily, Rhae clears his throat and decidedly stops coughing, dominating the tickle in his throat until it finally subsides to a manageable twinge. Gods be damned, the cough gets worse every day; and he can only imagine the subsequent symptoms.

Holding his wings to himself and shivering a little, the handsome - though admittedly disheveled - stallion meanders through the Tephran soil, making his way slowly towards the volcano at the northern tip of the kingdom. The structure radiates warmth, and though the ash is less than helpful for his cough, the heat makes winter just a little more bearable. Though winter ought to be bearable for one his age...

He shakes his head at the thought, ears tilting back and tail snapping behind him. Don't be a child, he thinks to himself irritably. Suck it up and deal with the consequences of your own actions; at least you aren't dying yet.

What optimism, my boy; what optimism.

Rhaegor