Their children will learn to hope for a Caesar.
The red forest. 
 
I haven’t come here in a while, though I’d once come and gone often, remembering the battle of the Bear, and relishing the moment in which I’d learned a God could die by the hands of those they ruled.  It rang with more brilliance when I thought of the Spark, and how pleased he’d been with me for having come to his aid. 
 
Of course, the excitement had faded as further rifts revealed foreign realms, and more Gods of that far away, horrible land fell beneath Helovian hooves.  It had continued to wear away until all I was left with were stale memories, the smell and sound of the battle no longer rising to mind with the images as they once had.  Now, as I walk along the edge of the red pool, its ruby lining twinkling in the early, golden light tinted rouge by the sun piercing through the tender crimson flesh of the leaves above, I don’t even look over to see if the bones are still there or not, as I might have a seasons ago.
 
Let him be dead in peace.  It was embarrassing enough he’d died, being a God and all.  He didn’t need me probing into his afterlife.
 
"Hey," I say to the forest around me, ears moving to catch the sound of Duir’s approach from wherever he is (though I don’t know where exactly, it is nearby; it always is).  He arrives to the right, trying his best to startle me, to little avail.  Without even looking over at him, of the thought that giving him a single glance would be a sort of approval of the behavior, I halt, and continue on. "I think we should wait here for a while."
 
He looks at me with a bit of confusion, wondering why in the world we’d want to hang out at some creepy waterfall.  He’d like to go back to the meadow overlooking the sea, or maybe even the Threshold, with all the giant trees, and was hoping to make more progress in either of those directions.
 
"I don’t know why, okay?" I elaborate with some frustrated flair, kicking a loose stone into the pool, "seems like a good place to be, is all."
 
Where else am I supposed to go, anyway?
 

Their children will learn to hope for a Caesar.

An odd, loud blurt escapes Duir’s mouth almost in time with a familiar female greeting.

The combination of noises sends my reeling back down to reality from where I’d been wandering around the trails of my head, covering the muttering that had preceded her appearance, but also disguising her arrival at all. A startled expression meets her stammered greeting, golden eyes luminous and wide, and my mind blooms with the sound of mentally shared laughter that Duir had, finally, managed to make me jump a little… even if he had required help.

An unmistakable beacon of joy, he is immediately alongside Rexanna, his dark, damp nose reaching up in friendly greeting of Marembo, chocolate ears twitching delightedly. His antlers, now visible, two inch stubs with one, miniscule and curved prong, still have rounded tips, but are none-the-less objects of pride for the young buck, and he also no longer wears his spots. Still, he is still undeniably the same idiot fawn that the polecat met months ago, as evidenced by his sheer delight to have run into his first friend again.

"Rexanna," I manage with a smile, despite the thudding of my heart (not entirely attributed to being startled), turning away from the red water to look fully at her. Distracted, or perhaps worn down by the horrible summer we’ve had, she looks less cheerful than she had when we’d met last. She’s still just as pretty as last time, however - maybe even more so - with the crimson light making her golden facets twinkle like they’re embellished with rubies, and her aureate skin kissed crimson like the last dying rays of light reaching up over the horizon. Mostly, however, I’m interested in the way the strange luminance of the red forest makes her curves all the more dramatic, the shadows colored blood black and numerous to extenuate exactly where she’s supple. Like last time, no, definitely more so than last time, it’s hard to think. This time, there is only her, not a tiny new thing and his dancing, cherubic emotions distracting me.

Trying my best to not leer at her like an extremely frustrated virgin (which I am, let’s not forget), I attempt to be a gentlemen, and take note of her face, rather than her legs. Despite the latter being a great temptation, there is a certain amount of emotional turmoil happening in the depths of her blue eyes that manages to make it through my normally dense skull.

"Is something wrong?" It feels dumb now that I’ve asked it. It’s too late, though, the syllables projected. My ears splay ever so slightly in embarrassment at myself, especially because the question probably isn’t that earnest… I was just looking at her, after all, and not just as a measure of physical ability.

Their children will learn to hope for a Caesar.
Some women love talking about their problems, while others kept them inside carefully locked boxes. My mother’s box had been comprised of impenetrable metal, and sealed with arcane magic, a rare sort of lady; for every secretive, closed woman, there were probably a dozen who flitted about like butterflies, their hopes, dreams, and secrets spilling forth like water from the red falls nearby. I don’t suppose they can help it, being emotional beings and all, as Vaelenne had explained to me all those summers ago. Men were made to be warriors, rigid as steel and law, while women, like Rexanna, Xynia, Aelin…

They were the color, as delicate as a song. They were bending and edgeless, supple as their curves.

Our muzzles brush in a gentle exchange of breath, certain locations tightening as they always do when I do this with mares; doing my best to disguise it as I pull away, I’m glad her words eclipse the awkward silence left in the gesture’s wake.

An illusory, mental click of her locks closing shut sounds behind her easy excuse for the heaviness in her face. I almost press her, finding that I’m intrigued by the mysterious gold mare as much as I’m off-put by her secrecy (never mind that I’m the same), but refrain, instead letting an easy smile broach my lips. I don’t have to know in order to enjoy her company, or to find what she says next funny, a rich chuckle sounding through the air.

"I don’t lie very often," I lie. An impish smile lines my features, my golden eyes devilishly glimmering. "Especially not to such a pretty woman."

Looking away awkwardly, the whole line not playing out as I’d imagined it. Thinking quickly, not wanting to come across as helplessly naïve and inexperienced (though I am), I flash my token smile again.

Duir exhales in exasperation, rolling his eyes at Remy for comedic effect.

"So, what’s new in the life of Rexanna?" I adeptly question, steering away from the sexual context, delving into who she is… and some of that other hopelessly feminine shit girls like to talk about, "I’m afraid I haven’t done much since we last saw each other."

Well, besides piss Deimos off, and probably culling any chance I had of being able to come back to the Basin at will. I wasn’t about to tell her all that though. It was embarrassing, and it made my insides feel like someone was punching them, to boot.