| Aurora Basin Phantom atk: 7.5 | def: 10 | dam: 2.5 |
| Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16 hh :: 8 yrs HP: 60.0 | Buff: NOVICE |
| Glo |
Gaze averted and crown lowered, Roland was oblivious to the apprehensive ruminations of the Mender, of the uncertainties and doubts clouding her mind as she approached. He simply waited, blissfully unaware and patiently in position, neck bowed so she could reach the curve of his horn. His gaze roamed over the slate gray of his own hooves as he listened to the lap of water upon the rocky shores, let the rhythmic melody soothe his nerves as Lena stooped to pick up his circlet. He relaxed his stance accordingly, angling his horn towards her so she could catch its keen edge and hook her gift upon the blade. It was a delicate process. The Thief feared that if he moved an inch, relaxed one leg or simply flicked an ear, he might be at risk of harming her. And that would be an awkward situation indeed. So he held still, reticent and motionless until he felt the whisper of her exhale against his brow, the question floating through an easy silence.
With one smooth movement the Thief withdrew, arching his neck, curving upwards so the circlet could find its rightful place at the base of his horn, fitting seamlessly around its breadth. Satisfaction welled within his chest as he shook his forelock out of the way, marvelling at the cool and foreign feather weight of the shells resting lightly upon his brow. Try as he might, however, he could not see how it suited him.
As it happened, they stood upon the brink of the perfect speculum, a motionless looking glass that could have been crafted for just this purpose in mind. With a wink aimed in the Mender's direction, and a nod of gratitude for her help, Roland drew away from her side and stepped towards the lake's edge. He waded in only a short ways, pushing delicately through the cool water until he could see his reflection staring back at him with an eager gaze. Once the ripples had quieted he tilted his head, examining the glinting ruby fixed into the band's center and noticed, in a passing moment of vanity, how perfectly it paired with the blue of his eyes. "I do," he confirmed finally, with a bob of his head. He took a moment to watch his reflection a while longer, tail skimming across the water's surface as he admired the placement of his gift, biding his time. A small smile curled along his lips as Roland turned back to gaze upon the Mender and her companion standing at the shore. He was lucky to have them, fortunate for all that they had done for him, their unwavering confidence and faith. The jewel at the base of his horn would be an indication of that. "Thank you," he said softly, all of his appreciation, his sincerity and affection, resounding through his voice.
He had never been given a gift before. The Thief wasn't exactly sure he was even worthy of such a thing. It didn't feel like he could be deserving, when he thought of his habits, his chicanery and artifices. He had his suspicions, but all the same, Roland wasn't quite sure what he could have done to earn her gratitude, her gifts. This was no small reward, no trivial token of her appreciation. The Thief would carry it with him forever, a reminder that he did not only cause trouble everywhere he went.
When the cool bite of water against his skin had grown to be a nuisance, he returned to the shore almost reluctantly, placing himself back at the Mender's side. Morning progressed gradually around them, unhurried and lethargic as light filtered over the mountains, and any traces of vibrant colour left on the horizon faded into cerulean hues. The gem was a barely-there presence upon Roland's crown, not in the least way a burden. Gratitude festered within him as he fixed Lena with a fond look, withholding the deluge of his appreciation and focusing instead upon the sun's benevolent warmth across his skin. Silence reigned for a moment longer; the Thief's lips curled, pursed against his urge to speak. He took in a steadying breath, blinked away his hesitations.
They had not had the chance to talk- to truly talk- since their time together on the shore. The predicament with the God of Earth had been rushed, hurried, pressed. They had only been given time enough to do his bidding, racing against the hands of time from one end of the realm to another, bestowing cautions, gathering supplies, preparing for the cleansing floods. There had been no opportunity for resolution upon the beach. Roland had been stranded, unwilling to call the Mender back when she had left his side, so abruptly, after her restoration. He had only stood there at the shore, salt water dripping into his eyes and running in icy rivulets down the curve of his neck, the chill of winter digging glacial fangs into his skin. Hopeless, disoriented, he had gazed out upon the desolate, stormy ocean and counted all his failings in the haze of sea spray. It had lingered over his head ever since, a dark cloud of apprehension at the back of his mind. He was happy to see her well again, more than he could possibly articulate.
"How are you?" He asked carefully, hesitant to breach the subject. It had taken him a moment to work up to it, to dare to bring to mind the fires, the ash and brimstone that had scorched the sand, broken the coastal quietude, that had bartered her harmless quest in exchange for havoc. That terrible inferno had almost wrought her destruction, but had ultimately delivered what she sought. Even still, the Thief could not help but think of it when in her presence, still felt like he was on the brink of losing her, that there would be nothing he could do to alter circumstance. As much as he wanted to bury it in silence, to lose it in the disorderly corridors of his mind, to speak above the persistent noise of his burning curiousity, his lingering trepidations, to pretend it never happened and forget about her trial by fire, he had to ask. Even if it was at risk of ruining the serenity they had built upon their early morning reunion. The Thief's gaze scoured the grass as he deliberated, focusing upon the comfort of the sun's warmth against his back, like a steadying hand. He gathered his courage, prepared for whatever answer she might give him and prayed that she would not avoid it altogether, as she had before. When he raised his head to meet her gaze once again, it was with a wary look upon his face, a careful note to the soft murmur of his voice, pressed reluctantly, hesitantly from his lips, as if he was afraid to speak too loud, almost hoping he would not be heard over the distant chatter of sparrows wakening in their nests. But perhaps, when he finally learned she had been successful, when he held onto the hope that the fires did not haunt her as they did him, he could put his heart to rest.
@[Lena]
Push your luck if it makes you a promise
that turns con men honest.
|
|
Image Credit
|
.svg/2000px-Google_Chrome_icon_(2011).svg.png){kind=icon}
