Sleep was a rare commodity for the persistent patriarch. When he did succumb to the needs of his body, it was deep but for a despairingly short amount of time. Peace had only ever seemed to come to him within the borders of his home, where he felt the safest, the most likely to doze off and restore the meager supply of sleep he somehow functioned on. It was usually rare to catch him fully earthbound, massive frame sprawled or curled upon his belly or side, allowing the mists to shroud him away from prying eyes in his little cove he'd long claimed for himself. Were he anywhere else, the king likely would have awoken at the truly gentle but still present touch of the young filly, but his exhaustion had won out and his dreams were too lucid to prompt him to awaken and find the real source of the touch.

Instead, he dreamed of Kahlua, of the two of them in an ending that Kaj was becoming increasingly more aware was not written into the last pages of his book of life. She held him, as he did her, and they murmured their apologies into ears that only cared for forgiveness. He reveled in the respite, in the brief interlude of illusory joy that painted itself so vividly across his eyelids. When he woke it would be to the pain of consciousness and shattered dreams, and he would watch them fall with agonized heart and prickled eyes. It seemed that even when he swore to leave behind his love for her, Kaj could not escape the endless faith and vowed affection that he'd given to Kahlua so long ago.

Perhaps little Rue happened to press a tad too hard, or her humming finally pierced the veil of the slumbering giant's mind, but Kaj awoke with a steady, relatively swift rise to awareness. Tired eyes blinked away the dredges of sleep, even as his heart broke a little more to realize that such fantasies were just that - fantasies. Had the pressure of Rue's artwork not stolen away his attention in that very moment, it was likely the Storm Bringer would have succumbed to the quiet urge to shed a few tears of mourning for a love lost before it could truly bud and flower. Grunting heavily at the disruption, the king swung his mighty head to narrow eyes down upon whatever or whoever had awoken him, eyes falling first upon his rather...red behind.

There was a momentary, hidden panic at the color, and the king began to struggle to his hooves. Was Rue hurt?! His heart pounded so heart it physically hurt, anxiety seeming to make the world turn on a dime and swallow itself to the size of a pinhead. Only when he turned round and realized, half-up on his knees, that the juice was too pink to be blood, did Kaj slow and relax. "Zoet?" he grunted, still sleep-ridden once the adrenaline left him in a rush, quizzical. Her nickname flowed easily on his tired, thick tongue, the guttural language seeming more natural in his grumbling state as his brain tried to process what was going on.

His...his butt was pink.

Red, to be fair, but still.

Kaj turned to look dumbfounded at Rue as he finally stood completely, swinging half-numb limbs to catch himself. Gazing down at her, he refrained from simply outright gaping. Was he supposed to be angry? There was only a faint trace of irritation, mostly he was just...stumped. His brain failing to process the situation adequately. So what tripped off his tongue was - "Did you paint me, zoet?"

@[Rue]