Hold on to me because I'm a little unsteady

She practically flew to him. Stupid? Probably. She is wounded, lest you forget. Desperate? Well... yeah but what is she desperate for would be the better question. Does she give a flying fuck what anyone else thinks? No. Especially not now. With her father not around, the girl had unknowingly latched herself onto the white king. Yet what that means exactly is difficult for her to identify or label. (Does it even need a label?) Regardless, the girl is surprised to see the sobbing mare back up as she slips between Mauja and the rest. With her gentle prodding, the elephant man also steps back. As he does so, she carefully lowers herself beside the grieving man - close enough for him to feel her but not so close as to pin him to the corpse on his other side. She doesn't hesitate to embrace him gently with her wing and she doesn't spare another glance at any of the others. They don't matter to her. He does.

Naerys isn't so much overwhelmed by the grief. Rather, she felt a strange desire to protect Mauja. She wants to shove away their questions and silence their voices. Of course political decisions had to be made but not before the body runs cold. How much could it hurt to give him a day? Just one? Surely they could exist in such a temporary limbo. But then, what does she know? She is just a child after all. A mere yearling with little knowledge of the underhanded nature of politics. So she continues to ignore the rest. She pays no mind to the pale mare and her surly vibe. Doesn't even notice the arrival of the dark stallion or the shifting of the companions. She doesn't even notice her own flowers as they grow around her, snaking and stretching out beneath the stallion in the way that vines so often do. After a short period of time the passionflowers have created a soft, fragrant bed for the two of them of their own accord. She couldn't control them, not completely, but maybe their presence would help him in some small way.

He groans and the sound tugs at her heart, her soul, her very essence of being. As he lowers his head, pressing it against the sand, she reaches forward to press her lips against his hide. Ever gentle, ever comforting, and ever silent. There are no words, only warmth as she breathes against his flesh. The scent of him mingles with the aroma of tar and the sharp, metallic tang of blood but yet it is still there, still pulling her ever tighter and ever closer. She'd wanted to touch him that day she'd stumbled upon him in Frostfall but her reasoning then had been different. It had been a childish curiosity (was he as cold to the touch as he seemed?) and one that she'd been able to resist. Now she touches him with confidence (no, he's not cold at all), without hesitation. As she breathes him in she finds herself shifting to press her face into the widest expanse of flesh she can reach. And then she sighs. A deep, profound sigh that leaves her both comforted and frightened at the same time. Mauja's presence, so closely pressed against her, comforts her - completely - and that is terrifying.

But she couldn't pull away. She couldn't flee. Not after she'd deliberately pushed the others back because they were wrong and because she could comfort him more or better than they could. So she remains still, her head pressing softly against him and her ears tuned only to him. She listens, preparing herself for any abrupt movements so that she might avoid further injury.

NAERYS