like the sun swallowed up by the earth
This time, she does not find him beneath the thin veil of starlight, nor the cold cloak of the salty seas - instead, she surprises him, and finds him when the autumnal sun shines high in the sky (though the intensity is the same as summer, only the shadows are shortening with each passing day towards winter). She smells distinctly of the volcanic island, thick with ash from the smoking plumage and of brine from the sea air - he smiles, almost proud at her exploration in the few days between their last conversation. The last they had spoken had been laced with solemnity, and even so, he cannot help but smile easily as he sees her approaching him. Her gait - unnatural and ungraceful - only further brightens the smile on his indigo muzzle. He only sees her bravery and lack of fear in her approach, stretching his wings outward and beating them once, twice, with gentle strokes at his sides. As the broad wings fold into his auburn barrel, the stallion’s head tilts inquisitively and his brow furrows as she lowers herself before him, regality in her low bow.
With something of a chuckle, he follows her movement downwards with the quick gracefulness of his neck, putting his muzzle beneath where her cheek meets her neck and gently encouraging her to stand - there is no need for bowing! Then came her stumbling words as she tries to call him by his title, as if their swim in the ocean hadn’t made her realize who he truly is. The idea that she would think she needed to bow or recite a name for him makes him laugh warmly, his breath soft on the delicate flesh of her throat.
“It’s just Warrick,” he murmurs gently to her, “or have you already forgotten me?” He takes a step back, a slight frown on his face but delight in his eyes.
“Do stop apologizing, dear Wound.”
Warrick
@[wound]