She cannot pretend she hasn’t thought of him.

The buckskin stallion has lingered in her mind over the past few months, clinging to her thoughts like a tiny little burr. Every day there’s a moment where he just … slips in. A moment where something inexplicably draws her back to their encounter.

She still doesn’t understand why he’s had such a lasting effect. She’s met many stallions over the course of her long life (her sizeable brood of children is evidence enough of this), and he’s not that unusual by any means.

He’s just well … tall, dark, handsome, regal, brooding (and yet somehow sassy at the same time) …

But it’s more than that. She has, after all, met many stallions that could have fit that description. When she’d looked into his eyes she’d seen the years behind them, the depth. It’s more than the power he holds (he’d revealed much to her on that occasion) - it’s the connection. The kindred soul.

And perhaps more importantly, he’d been rather fun to tease.

Even now, as she ambles slowly through the trees, her mind flits back to their conversation and the jibes they’d traded. She can almost hear his voice, calling out to her through the forest’s thick trees …

Oh!

She freezes, one violet leg frozen mid-step. There’s actually is a voice filtering through the trees, and it is calling her name. And it happens to be a voice that she recognizes well.

“I know you’re there, Azlyn. There is no use hiding from me. Not as if you could, with your purple ass hanging in the wind.”

It must be. She can’t help but snort before calling out in reply - “how rude!” Trying to hide her the sudden enthusiasm surging in her heart, she forces herself to walk slowly in the direction of the voice. She slinks around a thick pine and the smell of seaweed and brine hits her like a wall. Her violet nose wrinkles delicately as she leans nonchalantly (or so she thinks) against the pine.

It’s him alright, albeit greener and more weedy. She’d recognize those eyes anywhere.

But she doesn’t want him to know that he’s been on her mind, so she keeps her tone dry and lazy, as if she’s simply encountering a small annoyance. A minor setback to her day. “A little hypocritical, don’t you think, to comment on the colour of a ladies’ behind when you look as if you’re being overtaken by mould.” Not her best, to be sure, but it will have to do when she’s been so suddenly put off guard.

She can feel more than see the irritation that rolls off him. She also can’t help but enjoy it. Just a little.

Then he shakes his head ( a rather showy motion that travels from the nape of his neck down to the tip of his tail), sending a spray of colour raining down around them. She supposes it’s supposed to be impressive, and in a way it is, but her foremost thought is that he’s got too much power for his own good. “Show off.”

His next words however, make her breath catch in her throat. “And how unbecoming is it of someone who pretends to be a righteous bitch as a front, but spends her days pining after him like a little girl? How hypocritical does that make you?”

The gears turn in her head, connecting dot after uncomfortable dot. Magic. Magic can involve telepathy? Shit.

She hasn’t met enough magicians in her life (that is, none) to have really thought about what magic entails. She hadn’t really considered the possibility of him being able to read her own thoughts … whoops. Well the cat’s out of the bag.

She exhales quickly, attempting to recover. He’s wrong about one thing after all - she hasn’t been pining. “Pining? Well someone thinks quite highly of himself.” She raises her head to look disdainfully down her long violet nose at the angry look on his face. “I won’t pretend that I haven’t thought of you, but I haven’t exactly been suffering mental anguish of the lack of your presence in my life.” She pauses, as if considering. “More like … contentment. Peace even.” She hasn’t had to deal with comments like that after all.

Her brown eyes travel back over the rest of his body appraisingly before rising back to meet his own. “Much better by the way. You look a lot less like something that died on the bottom of the ocean.”

He stretches his wings, pumping them vigorously and sending a flurry of petals and greenstuff from the forest floor raining down on her head. It rankles … and likely more than he’d intended. His moment of showing off is reminding her of her own current lack of wings (wretched fairies). “Oh thanks,” she mutters dryly. “I suppose I’ll just have to start a new fashion now.” He can probably sense her anger (damnable telepathy), but she leaves it at that. He’d intended on annoying her, not reminding her of her current inadequacies.

His body is rippling again (no doubt ‘display’ is in the offing), and she’s about to sass him when his wings disappear and his skin actually cracks. She doesn’t hide her disgust, her mouth twisting as her eyes follow the gush of blood that suddenly stains the forest floor. “Gross.” His body knits together, suddenly normal again, but she still has a bad taste in her mouth. “Now what was that supposed to accomplish?” Seriously. Ew.

“There are many things I could become. And many things I know.” She snorts audibly and her eyes roll. “Of that I have no doubt.”

He speaks again and her mouth twists in a decidedly different expression. Well he’s hit the nail on the uncomfortable head this time, hasn’t he?

She pauses for a moment, mind drawn to places she would rather it not go. She hasn’t seen Ram since she abandoned them in the den, hasn’t seen Makaria or Kione since their fight in the Jungle, hasn’t seen Pevensie since their last visit in the Deserts, hasn’t seen … any, of her children in years. “I have no one.”

As for love? She’s loved her children, as any good mother will. She’s loved her sister and her adoptive family. But romantic love? Never. She’s always kept her heart hidden away, always tried to protect herself (she’s already experienced enough pain). She’s never been able to open up enough, never been able to find someone to crack her armour. “No one at all.”

Her mind wanders (following the path Ashley’s comment had laid out for it), and for a moment, an image of Lestrade floats in her minds eye. Lestrade, as she’d seen him last - scared by the flames. Fleeing. Alone.

She hasn’t seen the boy since that day, since the fiery stallion had attacked and scared her son into the woods. She’d searched for him after, but his trail had died on a trek through a canyon and she hasn’t been able to find a single sign of him since. She’s hopes he’s alright, wherever he is. He’d be a grown stallion now, almost 12 years old. Does he have a home, a safe place? A family of his own?

Funny, to be thinking of him now. She hasn’t actually thought of him in a while … not since … well, not since that first day she’d run into Ashley in the woods. She’s just been so distracted lately. It’s been kind of nice.

Her thoughts are suddenly pulled away from her son by a soft, gentle touch, and her breath catches in her throat as she realizes that Ashley is leaning against her, attempting to make amends for his jibe. She’s frozen for a moment, startled … though not unpleasantly so. A warm sensation spreads through her. For some reason he makes her feel … safe. Comforted. And, dare she say it … affectionate.

“It’s alright. I have a lot of past … a hazard of immortality.” She smiles wryly, though the expression does not touch her eyes. Comforted though she is by his embrace, the memories of her lost son still ache. “Most things remind me of the past these days.” Especially considering she’s had little else to occupy her thoughts. Well, until now.

She feels slightly awkward, not having intended on sharing so much so soon, but Ashley soon offers her a line and she can’t help but chuckle. “You wish! You simply … caught me off guard!” She smiles fondly at him. “But, I appreciate your offer. I … think I will take you up on it.”