She wasn't gone for long, no more than a day perhaps. The lovely canary returned, and he watched from the depth of Sylva's shadows as she slipped into the dark loch he frequented more often than his own home. He frowned, studying her silently from his distance. She didn't live here, he knew. There was no reason for her to choose this body of water above one that may have been closer to where she roamed. Not unless she had come for him, covering herself in his cool lake, pulling it comfortably over herself like a security blanket.

Did she think she was safe here?

It was not as amusing a thought as it might have been another day. His stare pierced the night to remain locked on her. There was a slight catch in her movements, not as fluid and flawless as they had been before, and she scrubbed at herself as though covered in a thick oil only she could see, desperate to wipe away a memory. It was unsettling to see the confident seductress reformed into.. this.

Then she screamed, began to weep.

He flinched from the sound, the ring in his ears and the raw emotion swelling her throat. His frown deepened and his eyes hardened as he slipped from the darkness to stand at the edge of the water, his chain whispering softly with his steps. His head was high as he watched her quietly for a while longer before speaking, his voice low, but firm.

Come out, Charlemagne.
Come to me.

His eyes were dark as he waited to examine her, no evidence of the deeply-seated predator that lay beneath the perfect black coat of handsome horse. He wasn't keen on the idea of joining her in the water, finding that it agitated him if he was not the one to guide them to it -or throw them in it. It was preferable if it was on his terms, and he wouldn't be sinking foot in it otherwise. She would have to come to him if she had indeed come back to Sylva for him.