How long has it been since she set foot in the Cove? Oh, she recalls… it was the coronation. There is laughter in her heart recalling that memory, watching the friend she so loves being made Queen. The end of Ilma’s reign, the end of the last vestiges of The Sanctuary.
Marbled and glorious, Kensa stands atop a gentle swell in the earth where the wind lays over the grass around her into waves of green and gold. Her flaxen mane is manipulated by the gusts, whipping against her skin or streaming back from her neck like a platinum flag.
The Cove is silent.
It is the silence of a fabled battlefield, an unconsecrated graveyard where only ghosts should walk. The silence of ballroom in the wee hours, the invitations dated for a distant tomorrow. An arena where a gladiator stands on bloodless sands and savors the silence of an empty Colosseum.
It pleases her endlessly to see it so.
They ought to perhaps have an event of some kind soon. She should mention it to that husband of hers, he can set his crown to a jaunty angle and invite the other kingdoms to a fête or perhaps something more befitting a prince of shadow. However that is not why she is here.
Rumors reach her. As always she appreciates them just as much as she is annoyed by the idea of them. So frequently people pretend they know so much about her based on rumor, as if they should have her name in their mouths without knowing anything for themselves. She seeks to verify a particular rumor for herself. An old friend is back in the Cove.
Of course she is aware of the odd handful of horses hanging on to the Cove, perhaps not understanding the shift in the Kingdom or too traumatized by the plague to abandon the old retreat easily, but they will. Choose a faction of the East, or leave… she would say. That is of course up to Litotes and Dawn, and they are likely forced to be more diplomatic. Kensa is today only interested in seeing if what she has heard is true. The wind that blows across her face brings her a promising scent and the Primarch lopes forward to investigate.
He is here after all. Bay and verdant green, his horns spiraling skyward and her smile is as radiant as the sun that lies smothered behind the dense cloud cover. “Clayton.” Her voice is honey smooth and clear and she reaches out to greet him with calm relief. “You really are here. I’m happy to see you again.” She wonders a little at the anger or perhaps sadness she feels from him and so very softly says. “It’s time to come home.”
@[Clayton]
