just let me cry a little bit longer, sunny

[Rhaegor]

Rhaegor

the playboy

Sickness chased him relentlessly. Despite the warmth and joy of his return to Beqanna, his return to health proved more tedious; whatever strain of the plague found its way into his blood so many moons ago begrudged him his wellness. Nights spent at Chryseis' side often dragged on sleeplessly, and the days thus fell to shambles too. Not always to be certain - but always, to be certain, when it finally seemed as though he might be healed.

Of course, during the interim of half-healthy half-sickly, much... rejoicing... was had between the two lovers. Rhaegor liked to joke about such activities being his strength-and-stamina training, considering that he still couldn't gallop properly without popping a lung, or something as equally dramatic and far-flung. For a half-dead, family-less twerp, he certainly maintained the roguish attitude of an utter teenager. At least, he did as much as Chryseis would tolerate - but like any male, he found amusement in pushing each of her boundaries.

Suffice to say, all was well in their little world; sickly, sexy, miserable, and wonderful, at any given point.

At tonight's point, however, sleeplessness once again kept Rhaegor company. His lover's gentle snoring no longer played to the tune of his favourite lullaby as he usually imagined, but instead felt like needles in his ears. Hypersensitive as he sometimes tended to be, the mute eventually found himself rushing to his hooves, overwhelmed by a fire-like urge to be away from the surrounding stimulus. An unexplainable impulse.

So, with a quick press of a thought to Chryseis' mind (she by this point had become accustomed to the insomniac's wanderings), he set off.

The moon followed the stallion like a curious and toddling child as he meandered from forest to creek to river. Night-animals cooed anxiously at the sound of the veritable behemoth's treadings, but their noises simply provided Rhaegor some background music to his night's escapades. Before long, he found himself splashing contentedly into the warm thigh-high waters, oblivious to his surroundings. As easily as his hypersensitivity clicked on, his hyperfixation replaced it; and, without noticing the breathtaking woman standing just to his right and on the bank above, the once-prince played a game on his own.

Splashing, dancing, and phantom-laughing.

...my name on your tongue and your tongue on my...