He couldn't settle down. Either he was pawing at the slow, brown waters of the Thistle River so that cool droplets of water splashed high into the air and sprayed in cooling cascades over his skin, or he found himself pacing back and forth across the meadow, one moment lurking in the shade beneath a wide-crowned oak and the next trying to graze on the vast, sun-kissed meadow. But wherever he went thoughts kept pestering him like the fat, green flies that haunted his wake, images of a star-strewn mare intruding upon his mind and clearly disturbing his mental peace. It wasn't even all that hot and he was still sweating buckets - whether from the ceaseless pacing or the attempts at not thinking about her he wouldn't know.
Fajira had long since tired of him. She had disappeared beyond the horizon in search for something more interesting to look at than his sweat-soaked figure. Better company, maybe even a wild dragon or two to play with, hunt along side or simply hang out with - he couldn't care less, and she had closed her thoughts to him so that the only reminder of her existence was a vague presence at the back of his mind - like the feeling of having someone stand behind you in the dark, just out of touch and sight.
The problem was, Lace concluded as he ripped up a tuft of grass with roots and all and chewed it absent-minded - not even noticing the taste of dirt until gravel started to crunch between his teeth - that he was too old. Or rather, she was much too young. He could just as well be her father (he thought, without knowing that he had once met her father) and it had to be wrong of him to feel any kind of attraction towards her. She hadn't looked to be much older than Tandavi or Amaris, and the notion of him laying hands on either of them was enough to make him want to run for the hills, screaming. According to all the world's logic he should be more inclined to fancy the experienced, soft-eyed and sweet-hearted mares of his own age - the memory of Mirage rose unbidden from the depths of his subconscious, smiling at him in that slow, mysterious way that promised heaven and hell at the same time, should he give in to the temptation that her round hips and fragrant skin offered...
But at this Lace shook his head vigorously as if he could make the inner vision go away faster if he did. Mirage was gone, disappeared into the shadows along with Rishima, her brothers and - he thought with the usual bitter, jealous pang - Vikram. That Amaris hadn't seen her meant that she had to be long gone, and Lace wasn't going to run off looking for her. Their latest clash was still fresh in memory, that stormy night on the beach when she had asked him to become a dragon and fly with her, had asked him to rule beside her. He had refused her then, too absorbed in jealousy of her intimacy with the dragon stallion, too aware that she would never truly become his... He had accepted the crown but not her love, that which he had pined for and craved for so many years.
And now his thoughts were full of another, a pesky, persistent temptation that he was sorely tempted to give in to. Had she not been so young. Had they not met only once, an enounter that had been incredibly sweet and sadly riddled with fever and illness - he felt heat rising to the face at the mere memory of her delusional words and actions.
The small, affectionate smile that teased across his lips spoke of a different mindset altogether though, as did the brief softening of the eyes - before he skid down the brink to the river and dunked the head beneath the surface, trying to drown his own rebellious thoughts.
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