let my shadows prove the sunshine

He doesn’t remember much and perhaps that is a good thing. It had been like a long sleep, nonexistent and nearly restful. The farthest he can remember (after he had accepted his fate) is a cold darkness finding him and swaddling him, like an old friend. His newest memory, however, is a girl with flowers in her hair ushering him and urging him to awaken and follow her. He did, of course, because Svedka can never tell a pretty girl no. Her name was Flower and she - along with a few others - brought Beqanna and all of those it lost back into the light.

Svedka’s youngest brother had holed himself up during the eclipse and even with Svedka’s resurrection from the underworld, still kept to himself. Something about being unable to stop the events that had unfolded.

The stallion is wandering aimlessly (or so he thinks) through his familiar volcanic home. He isn’t sure what to do with himself besides wander, and so he finds solace in wading in some warm tide pools that sparkle dimly in the sunlight. A few moments pass and he realizes he isn’t alone. A single ear tips back before his head turns with it, an inquisitive but curious look on his handsome face.

“You were just the one I was hoping to see,” he muses softly into the shadows of the treeline, wondering if Vastra had been stalking him all morning (and also wondering why she hadn’t attacked him upon first sight). The stallion allows his body to follow the direction of his head, straightening and facing where he believes her to be, though he can’t be sure. Perhaps it is from his absence, or the reminder of how much he hated being alone, but he adds with a smirk: “I’ve missed you.”

svedka

let my shadows prove the sunshine

Why is it that whenever a new path opens for him, he is suddenly whisked away? The lion had taken much of his time from him (more than he would care to count) and Carnage the same - then the world itself devoured him. He wonders if he is cursed, not meant to be in this world yet somehow able to return to it, with time stripped away and a new scar to remind him that in some way he does not belong.

The tidepool is warm as its tiny ripples lap at his ankles, tiny silvered minnows that had gotten caught up within the tide tickling him as they brush past, mistaking the ivory and gold hair for food. Svedka barely notices this feeling, of course, for the bright cerulean of his gaze remains on the deep tawny silhouette of Vastra - once she had stepped from the shadows and brought herself into the warmth of the Tephran sunlight.

She is as he remembers (and perhaps that mean not too much time had truly been lost, though the thought spurs a coldness in his stomach he can’t yet face) - steely gray eyes that somehow burn and freeze him all at once, the scent of the wind on her striped downy feathers and even her voice, smooth as silk yet heavy enough to keep him fully attentive. As her confession falls from her tawny lips, however, there is something he is certain he does not remember.

Svedka notices before her and something so spectacular could be the only thing that averted his eyes from her. He snorts softly, lifting his head with surprise at the gentle twinkle that alights across her entire body - completely magical and glittering. Svedka’s mouth is slightly agape as a little laugh escapes him, half in awe and half in surprise, when Vastra rushes him. His laugh is cut short and his own ears fall back as well, straightening himself and preparing to pivot away from her if needed. Though it is one reason he is drawn to her, Svedka can never be too sure of her next move.

When it is clear she does not mean to attack him, the stallion relaxes. He stretches his neck towards her, huffing gently with the wrinkled pink of his nose. “I’ve been called worse,” he murmurs playfully, stepping towards her in a sweeping movement so they are nearly chest to chest, nibbling at her crest. A bold move after being gone for so long, but worth any pain she may inflict from such a tender gesture.

“You seem as surprised as I am,” Svedka comments, his light blue eyes reflecting with the sparkles of her skin.

svedka

let my shadows prove the sunshine

“I like it,” he confesses with a gentle shrug, though he knew that Vastra couldn’t care less about his approval. Despite the out-of-place way she glitters and shines, he does find it quite becoming on her. Svedka fails to mention this part aloud, as he would much rather keep that to himself than for her sequestered rage to come fully apparent (at least not yet, for though her rage is wild and unpredictable, even he cannot forget how it spurs most - if not all - of their couplings).

She admits her anger towards him and he appears aloof, leaning back slightly to peer at her from the tangle of his brilliant white and blue forelock. “I’d be worried if you weren’t,” comes his casual reply, accompanied with the quirk of a single brow and the softest smile traveling across his pink mouth. He’s reminded of where he had actually been in his disappearance (a place he cannot rename or recall, a void of nothingness) and there is a solemnity that taints the otherwise bright eyes of the milk-and-honey stallion. “Not even the earth swallowing me up would keep me safe from your wrath.” There is laughter in his voice, though the truth of his disappearance lays heavily within it.

Her ferocity - though mulled for the time being - makes Svedka, oddly enough, feel grounded. He has truly returned (not only created a dream for himself) and Vastra is living proof of it. The sting of her teeth against the curve of his neck is enough to appease whatever doubts he may have had, the soothing balm of her lips warmly pressing into the same spot bringing a trembling sigh from his now-parted lips. The honey-gold skin of his neck shivers, his nostrils inhaling deeply her familiar smell. A deep nicker reverberates in his chest as he embraces her, resting his cheek against the tawny of her sloping neck.

“I think that’s the closest you’ll admit to liking me out loud.” Svedka laughs into her neck, nibbling heatedly. She has shown him her affection in other ways, of course, but talking had never been their go-to for displaying emotions. Despite this, the stallion does not dive in - much like her, he is hesitant and cautious, for even he does not know how much time has truly passed between them. Nothing seems out of place, of course, but a multitude of things could have occurred while he slept just beneath the ground. “What have I missed, besides your touch?” A smirk, devilish and purposeful, presses into her throat, humming gently as his eyes close.

svedka

let my shadows prove the sunshine

She steadies him with a gentle brush of her muzzle against his honey-gold skin; a type of steadying that doesn’t heal the parts of him that have been mangled and torn, but soothes such an ache. Though it does not ease the swirling uncertainty, it brings the stallion comfort. Svedka murmurs into the tawny of her jawline as her teeth scrape forcefully on his neck, his breath sweet and warm against her skin. She pulls at him and he obliges, getting rid of any space left between them with a sweeping step towards her.

Then, he pauses. “Twins?”

Something like confusion hardens all the lazy lines of his face, contorting his expression until it is clear that sheer disappointment washes over him like the Tephran tide. How could he have forgotten? His heart twists, realizing that he has left another partner to birth his children completely alone once again. He removes his touch from Vastra’s skin so that he can look into her eyes where concern blossoms within his own.

“I should have been there,” he confesses with a tightness in his voice. It is the same thing he had said to Ilma and it feels worse saying it for the second time. He hadn’t meant to be absent (though he had never dreamed of being a father, the role had been easy for him to fill) for either of them and there is a twinge of regret that stings in his chest. For the first time in his life, he doubts his ability to be a worthy partner. “I’m sorry, Vastra.” His voice is genuine and soft as he closes the space between them again, realizing that he now reached for her instead of the other way around.

He buries his head into the flaxen tendrils of her mane, inhaling the scent of clean air and wind. He doesn’t deserve her kindness, but he asks anyway. “I’d like to meet them, if that’s okay?”

svedka

let my shadows prove the sunshine

Svedka has always found comfort in Vastra’s fierceness and now he is even thankful for it. He doesn’t deserve to be coddled (not that he ever enjoyed it, anyway) and when she agrees with him, his contrite cerulean gaze snaps to hers. There is a moment of clarity that he feels in the steely-grey of her eyes, something like understanding intertwined with a twinge of sadness - regret, even? He has never been a truly present father in the past, but his loyalty to his children is nearly a fault. He should do better, he repremends himself inwardly, snorting softly as the yellow-gold of his ears tip back into the flaxen and blue of his mane. Her anger is warranted (not everlasting, however) and he allows it to seep into his skin and soften his heart.

“Trouble seems to follow me wherever I go,” he huffs nonchalantly, his tone lackadaisical despite the truth in his statement and accompanied by a dramatic flick of his tail against his milk-and-honey flank. “Is that okay with you?”

The overo stallion smiles. Twin girls. He has yet to father a son and he wonders if there is some kind of odd twist in the universe, giving him spirited and reckless daughters so much like himself. Vastra tugs at the deep cerulean blue that intermingles in the pale white of his mane, the same delicate blue that is so apparent in both Ciroc and Sundari. He’s even happy at Vastra’s choice in names - he’d never been any good at them and he doubts she would have let him have a say anyway.

The gentle sparkling of her skin awakens him again, bringing him from his reverie and for a moment, fixating on the gentle glow that travels like waves across the tawny gold of her neck and cheeks. Vastra’s voice softens (not much, but enough for him to tilt his head curiously) as she mentions the twins’ ages and Svedka feels his throat tighten.

He’s been beneath the earth for two years.

With a gentle toss of his head, he swallows the pitfall feeling in his stomach and offers Vastra a classic, lopsided smile - one that he hopes she finds comforting and inviting.

“I think,” he begins, his eyes narrowing thoughtfully, “I should do whatever it is you would like me to do. It has been two years, after all.”

svedka