The purple eyed newcomer seemed happy with the Throat. At least there were some who were happy; those largely untouched by the troubles of the land, as of yet. They were not forced to bear witness to their leader's faults, not the way he now had to see both Kri's and his own. Her temper and his own.. illness, were both something the Sultan would have to learn to fight. They could not be handled the way he had dealt with so many other obstacles, not with blood and pure force. He would have to find a way to both watch out for the resolute's hot head and shield the innocent from his own shifting moods. And, of course, all while taking care of a fledgling eagle, and trying to keep the love of a mare who resided on enemy ground. That spy, a mere thorn in the lion's paw, had deemed their love nothing but drama. It was fleeting moments like this, that he wondered if she was right.
Pulling his head out of the clouds, the palomino turned and strode out of the lake. He stopped on the shore, lowering his massive crown for Ember to scramble back upon his neck. She was often wary of strangers, and had not really quite gotten the hang of flying just yet. Her wing feathers grew more and more flight oriented with each day, and soon he knew she would take to the air beside him. Then they would be closer to truly being one.
"I am glad you have been enjoying yourself, Aitheria. I only wish I could say the same for myself." He said, bitterness pervading the smile which had crept upon his kisser. Thoughts of Kri's sharp, reprimanding voice still rang out harshly in his mind. It would have been easier just to acquiesce to her burst of warped, overbearing logic. But he was too sure of himself, and too fond of the Bazilisk already to let her words go unchallenged. She had, after all, requested his help in leading the herd, hadn't she? Surely she would have expected that he would have input to give, and to be adequately respected. They were supposed to lead in equality, side by side, not in opposition or by speaking to each-other with disapproval. Pale orbs gazed hard past the lovely chestnut and off into the distance. What would come of these twisted times?
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