Nasreen had flickered across the black's thoughts in passing as her absence grew noticeable, long. True their meetings had been few, and the last couple ones had been ended on rather taut notices, he couldn't help but enjoy her company. She did not stir his darkness as Morrigan did, did not make him surrender entirely to coltish fun and play as Ampere. Nah, with her it was just talk with the seemingly reoccurring spat.

Yet as time drifted on she had faded in his memory, replaced by the ragged weariness and strain upon his mind. This month had not been as bad, as hectic as the previous, but the work of crafting, making time to spend with his foals(which he hadn't done in some time), and generally being too fearful to sleep had the black pacing the sands, fleeing the Throat when he could to let loose the monster without a chance of hurting those he cared about.

His intention, now, had been to do that. To give Him his rein and wear him down enough for the black to regain control. The Grove had become a favorite spot; it was secluded, quiet and peaceful. Wearily he touched down on the soft, springy grass, his head low and feathers drooped. He was bone-tired yet feared sleep 'lest he wake up someone else, and it was with a robot-like presence he moved towards the lake, dropping his head to drink his fill. Azeeza glided from tree to tree, watching her beloved with worry and concern, the warring personalities within him confusing the youthful chick.

It was then he heard the crying.

It was then he saw her.

Golden eyes blinked, once, twice, making sure he wasn't hallucinating(he had done that a few days prior, Azeeza clouted him over the head until he surrendered to a short nap) before he lifted his head. Nasreen stood across the pond, shielded by willow branches that blew in the wind, and he could barely hear her weeping from as far as he stood. For a moment he stood still, awkward, unsure whether to approach or not, unsure if he would be welcomed.

Fuck it, she was crying.

Weary wings lifted, carrying the black in a short glide across the pond where he landed a little ways beside her. His appearance was far different than the last they had met; he was skinnier(something not healthy for his build), there was tiredness evident in every line of his face, and his wings, usually so well groomed as to shine, were scraggly and unkempt. Yet he could hardly care less about his appearance, no, his attention was focused upon Nasreen and her tears.

"Why do you cry, Nasreen?" He asked quietly, slowly walking forward, stretching out his muzzle towards her, pressing it to her soft shoulder. "Has someone hurt you?" The thought sent raw anger lancing through him, through his and Azeeza's bond, and the falconet screeched her anger at the possibility. Tired or not, if the devil himself hurt someone so serene, Bucephalus would storm the gates of hell and drag the devil out kicking and screaming to beg for forgiveness at the hooves of an angel.

No one so sweet should ever be given reason to cry.

Word Count: 541 Tags: @[Nasreen]