resurrect the saint within the wretch
When the silver light becomes something like an orb, Warden’s ears fall easily into the tangle of his dark mane as his stormy blue eyes narrow inquisitively, uneasy. He shifts his weight on dark, muscular legs while the hundreds of pale feathers at his sides whisper gently against each other when he instinctively flexes them. The stallion’s head lowers, those proud horns catching the dim light of the approaching orb, wondering briefly as to why his stomach has turned cold despite having no visions of this moment.
The light that darts towards him - now a silvery-blue upon its closeness - he believes will crash headfirst into him until at the last second, it bounds upwards into the canopy to alight the forest in all kinds of mixtures of shadow and light. Warden’s eyes have little time to adjust to the change from dark to light and the stallion blinks wildly, a rather unconventional look on his normally stoic and expressionless face.
It only takes a moment for him to realize that the ball of light melts away to reveal Flower and the way his brows rise shows a mixture of delighted surprise and awe on his pale face. The light melts across her glass skin in ways he could never fathom; like silver streaming through a river of rubies, illuminating each part of her that never could be captured if she were anything but herself. “Flower,” he replies with her name almost immediately, his voice unusually warm as she does not hesitate to come to him (as if he would ever dream of protesting). Her closeness nearly makes him forget about the dancing orb above them, especially when the sweetness of her breath hovers against the sharp curve of his jaw.
Warden only allows the ‘star’ (as she calls it) a glance of his dark eyes upwards, the rest of his face settling easily across Flower’s neck. He would have grumbled into her crystal mane, but she seems to approve of such a being playing sentinel above them and keeps the harshness out of his voice. “She?” he asks, still staring up begrudgingly at the star from beneath his furrowed brow, unwilling to part with Flower to take a step back and give the orb his full attention. He wishes it away (not in front of Flower, of course) and there is something that suddenly tugs at his mind that causes him to snort sharply. An intrusion of sorts - by none other than the star itself - causes the stallion to bristle outwardly.
“I did miss you,” he murmurs tenderly, closing his eyes momentarily to embrace her fully, inhaling her scent and listening to the sound of her soft breathing. A single eye opens after a few moments, staring up at the still perfectly poised light above them. “But how can you be so sure she’s mine?” He huffs into her neck, lowering his gaze to watch how his breath clouds gently against the ruby of her crystalline skin. As if listening (which she certainly was), the star dips down violently, spinning around them in a cyclone pattern. Instinctively Warden pulls Flower closer to him, his eyes trying to keep up with the spinning star, his ears pressed into his neck once again. After a few more circles around them, the star burns brighter suddenly, bouncing forcefully against the bridge of Warden’s nose before dimming and floating up into the canopy again - lustrous and still.
Warden snorts sharply, grimacing as he presses his ivory cheek to the gentle slope of Flower’s neck - the star is unwanted, unneeded; but she has already seemed to develop a sort of sentience as well as Flower’s favor, so he is at a loss. “It’s not a star,” he grumbles, though somewhere in the deep recesses of his heart, he hopes it is. “Stars are not alive; they feel nothing. Not like we do.” His voice softens, hearty and warm as his pale mouth traces gentle patterns on the soft curve of her neck.
@[flower]
