for every tyrant, a tear for the vulnerable
in every lost soul, the bones of a miracle
Until now she had expected the cremello stallion to follow her whenever she threw a smile his way. It was a youthful confidence, knowing on a primal level that she held a sway over him because she was beautiful and fresh. Tonight she feels a thousand years old, nothing like the vivacious girl who had run wild over Hyaline.
When he comes to her, embraces her she knows it’s because he wants to. She tucks herself into him immediately, her cheek settling against his muscular chest, her head resting easy under the shelter of him. He offers safety and she surrenders into it. In the moments that they embrace she exhales raggedly, closing her gemstone eyes. “I can hardly believe this is happening. We have volunteered to dive into the flames.” She laughs then, a sound of disbelief weighed down by weariness, and also irony because was she not Hyaline’s tomb raider? Racing after trouble like a raider of secrets?
Her name, abbreviated upon his lips baptizes her in a comfort and warm happiness that soothes her into giving him a smile. As Lie draws back she raises her head to watch him produce a blue feather he’d managed to secret on his person and carry around. Her look of surprise is is warmed with laughter as he carefully places this gift. She looks at it a little while, a blue feather nested there in the flaxen tangle of her mane. ”It’s lovely! I needed a good surprise.” Smiling again she draws close to him and brushes her lips happily against his. Drawing back again to shake her mane out, just to be sure his gift is secure. It stays beautifully amongst her locks, a reminder of a simpler time...a reminder of their ever growing bond.
“We should rest, and then head back home.” Hyaline was calling to her already, but they could steal a few hours to hold each other and close their eyes as two youthful romantics...because when they left these trees and returned to their kingdom it would be as Ambassador and General in a plague ridden new world. The chestnut girl draws near and rests her head over his withers, no longer afraid to look for comfort in his embrace.
