HE'S SO TALL, HANDSOME AS HELL
HE'S SO BAD, BUT HE DOES IT SO WELL
What he receives, is not what he expects. Maybe he expects too much, perhaps he is entitled to feel that way. His temper ebbs, curling back inwards, somewhere to be tucked away or left coiled to spring. She's nothing of what he expects a ruler to be, to look like. Plain, utterly plain, just as Kult- all save for her wings. Those, if nothing else, he could appreciate about her appearance. Call him biased.
Nothing hides the scrutiny in his eyes as he looks her over. Tracing the lines of her soiled edges, staying to linger only on her feathers.
She speaks his name, making a quick speech about who he was and who she is. His eyes harden, unsure how she had known him, known his name. She invites him in though, that much he can be sure, jesting at what lies beneath his wings. He gives her a mocked smile, closed mouthed and pulling tightly at the corners of his cheeks. “Very well then,” he relents, following her through the flames. He wasn’t sure what it would feel like, walking through fire, and he is disappointed to feel nothing.
“Where do you stand with the Gates?” No sooner than he had cleared the wall of fire does he begin with the questions he had for her. “They have something of mine and I’d like it back. They’ve grown too bold as of late.” A flick of his tail, his thoughts pooling with images of his half sister, and then of a roaned mare surrounded with snow.