10-08-2018, 05:37 PM
The bay stallion speaks of being known for decades for keeping his word, and I – who have been alive for barely half of one – cannot keep an amused smile from my navy mouth. It remains, even as Brennen continues to extrapolate on the ways my husband had failed to convince him of anything. My response is just to meet his gaze, I offer no verbal defense – it is not my place to apologize for the Sylvan King. Wolfbane takes that responsibility, and I incline my head in agreement. The dappled stallion had agreed to search for the killer, and if perhaps there had been pressure from someone who he valued more than Brennen, that I do not mention either.
When the Ischian King mentions his reservations about me I am less passive, though there is no hint of it in my outward appearance. For all my quick temper, I still make the conscious choice to bare the sword of my tongue. For all my abrasiveness toward the roan horse, not a word of it had been spontaneous. For Brennen I sheathe it – a diplomat at the core – and find that Wolfbane again steps forward to deal with the brunt of the explaining.
“You’re welcome to send someone to witness,” I tell him, thinking briefly of suggesting Grye. I’d met the coppery colt on my last visit to Ischia, and he had seemed the sort to enjoy an adventure. He’d be an adult now, I realize, and I wonder if still favors the same tidepools. Whomever Brennen decided to send, they’d see the same as any other.
“To both the questioning and the changes, I mean.” I add. “Though you have only my word to go by, I can promise I intend to make Sylva far better than it was under Modicum Mortem.” It is more difficult to say his name than I had anticipated, and a shiver from my head to the tips of my wings at the memory. I find myself stepping closer to Wolfbane as the scaled stallion leaves us, but it is to move nearer to him rather than farther from Leilan. There are some things I do not speak of, and I find that the warmth of the blue and yellow stallion is emboldening. “I don’t intend for others to suffer as I did.”
When the Ischian King mentions his reservations about me I am less passive, though there is no hint of it in my outward appearance. For all my quick temper, I still make the conscious choice to bare the sword of my tongue. For all my abrasiveness toward the roan horse, not a word of it had been spontaneous. For Brennen I sheathe it – a diplomat at the core – and find that Wolfbane again steps forward to deal with the brunt of the explaining.
“You’re welcome to send someone to witness,” I tell him, thinking briefly of suggesting Grye. I’d met the coppery colt on my last visit to Ischia, and he had seemed the sort to enjoy an adventure. He’d be an adult now, I realize, and I wonder if still favors the same tidepools. Whomever Brennen decided to send, they’d see the same as any other.
“To both the questioning and the changes, I mean.” I add. “Though you have only my word to go by, I can promise I intend to make Sylva far better than it was under Modicum Mortem.” It is more difficult to say his name than I had anticipated, and a shiver from my head to the tips of my wings at the memory. I find myself stepping closer to Wolfbane as the scaled stallion leaves us, but it is to move nearer to him rather than farther from Leilan. There are some things I do not speak of, and I find that the warmth of the blue and yellow stallion is emboldening. “I don’t intend for others to suffer as I did.”
