let my shadows prove the sunshine
Svedka watches them for a moment - out of sight for what he knew wouldn’t be very long.
He can feel his breath rise and fall steady in his chest (reminding him that yes, he is in fact alive) and that the three that frolic before him are as real as he is. The constant burning in his shoulder, where the deep tissue is still healing and attempts to repair the damage, serves as a reminder of what had happened to him. The wounds are jagged and unmistakable - a lion’s claws raked through the once beautiful skin made of ivory and gold - reworking itself together but still raw and red; ugly. He hesitates, suddenly feeling uncertain (a feeling that had been unknown to him before), but with a stiff-legged step in his right shoulder, moves towards the girls and their beautiful mother.
“Kirsi,” he calls to her gently, stepping slowly out from the shade and into the sunlight with them, a soft smirk on his pink lips. He stretches his neck forward (but only somewhat, as his shoulder keeps him from a full range of motion) to point out a bushel of white and yellow plumeria, reminiscent of the twins’ coat colors. “Take these ones,” Svedka advises her, lowering his gaze to gently huff his pale nostrils against her cheek. The painted stallion presses a sweet kiss on the poll of Kukka, messing her forelock playfully.
His blue eyes fall to Ilma, a soft shadow crossing his brow. He comes closer to her so that he may fall beside her, wanting to watch the girls but also craving the familiar touch that she brings. Svedka comes so close that he can lean against her slightly, still visibly worn from his plight with Beqanna's dark god. He is lucky to be alive, he thinks, though he cannot help but feel something had accompanied him from the afterlife.
Svedka sighs deeply, allowing his mouth to affectionately lip at the white strands of her mane nearer to her withers. “Ilma,” he says almost mindlessly, enjoying the moment of peace the three of them bring him.
svedka
@[Ilma]