09-11-2017, 01:03 PM
if there's a light at the end, it's just the sun in your eyes
Amet watches the brightening horizon patiently, but keeps an ear twisted to the side in case Ciri should begin to stir. Hyaline is peaceful in the early dawn, quiet except for the awakening birds and cozy within the circle of trees that impede on the crystalline water. He smiles wistfully at the scenery before them that has unfolded in the dawn - hazy fog drifts over the warm lake waters, and the only damage left from the Lost Boys attack is his sad, charred wisteria tree that stands erect and gray by the eastern side of the lake.
The Dragon King's gaze lingers on his favorite wisteria before Ciri finally stirs behind him. He's quick to react, pivoting his gilded frame to face the smoky black mare with a smile and his sleepyhead prompt. The space between them disappears and he reaches for the shivering mare as her bleary, unfocused eyes search for the red wytch from the night before. "She left," he offers kindly, "but she asked for us to find her when you are well." The electric mare's words about the Wolf of the Water drift through the Akhal-Teke's head, a riddle to be solved later on. For now, his gaze and thoughts remain on Ciri, who has turned her own silver eyes to him with a look that makes him think she wants to tell him something.
"What is it?"" he inquires gingerly, his voice full of curiosity.
You're the most loyal friend I've ever had.
He could have missed the words if he hadn't still been standing over her with his muzzle pressed to her shivering frame. His heart swells and he couldn't have hidden his proud smile even if he had tried, "That's a title I'm determined to uphold," he quips back to Ciri before he lets her concentration turn back to standing on shaky legs. He offers his leather-plated frame for support, gently leaning into the smoky black mare until she is able to find her footing on the wet shoreline. Her body quakes and Amet frowns, doing his best to slowly lead her into the warm waters of Hyaline's lake.
Only stopping when the water laps at the middle of his chest, the Dragon King pivots in the depths and dips his own muzzle into the water. When he pulls it back up again and extends his neck towards Ciri, his amber eyes watch her tentatively. "I'm going to wash the mud off now," he whispers in warning, "Tell me if you need me to stop... if it starts to hurt too much." And then slowly, methodically, the young King works to uncover her wounds from beneath the red wytch's ointment.
Amet
@[Ciri]