09-11-2017, 11:49 AM
if there's a light at the end, it's just the sun in your eyes
He sleeps fitfully with Ciri by his side, woken sporadically by odd nightmares with beasts and sirens and his own hammering heart. Each time his amber eyes snap open in the middle of the cloudy Hyaline night, the young King checks on his silver-eyed companion, his gold-encrusted frame adjusting slowly on the damp shoreline to avoid waking her while he checks the muddy mixture that the flame-kissed soothsayer had painted on her tattered flesh. When finally the darkness breaks and the distant horizon swirls with pastel blues and purples, Amet presses his muzzle to Ciri's neck and gently nudges at her. "Ciri," his whispering voice tests to see if she has awoken yet before he taps tenderly against her neck again.
"Wake up, Ciri," he wills her with a tentative and dream-laced voice before he shifts his own frame away from her to stand. He's suddenly cold in the dewy Hyaline morning, uncomfortably aware of the chill now that he is no longer pressed to her feverish body. The temperature awakens him more quickly than he would have liked, though there are still sleepy cobwebs that attempt to coax his eyelids closed once more. Amet grumbles in the dawn light as his amber eyes skim the quiet lake, fighting his drowsiness while searching for any sign of the flame-kissed soothsayer that had left them hours earlier - the only indication that she had ever entered Hyaline with her electric fireflies was the muddy paste she had mixed for him to coat Ciri's wounds. The Dragon King frowns under the realization that he'd never even asked her name, but remembers her invitation for when Ciri is healthy once more. He tucks her words into his mind to mull them over later and turns his attention back to the smoky black mare who still lays prone on the shoreline.
"Wake up, sleepyhead," he lowers his golden head to nudge her again and attempts to lighten the early morning mood with a sleepy smile, "I think your friend from last night has a medicine hat hidden somewhere." His amber eyes wander over her frame where the mud has dried and cracked over her wounds before turning his gaze back to her silver, swirling eyes. "She gaze me instructions to take care of you, and I intend to follow them."
"Do you think you can make it into the lake, Ciri? We need to wash the dried mud from you before I can put the fresh stuff on it," he states matter-of-factly, curious whether or not she will object to his help.
Amet
@[Ciri]