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The king whose word no man relies on
Quilyan
never said a foolish thing nor ever did a wise one.
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As much as he likes to deny it, he hurts. He tries to hide it from her, for he hates to make her worry, but it is the underlying truth that drives their day-to-day movement. It is slow going, but at least they are making progress. Where they are going, he is not sure, for he is just letting her lead the way. He thinks they have gone past the Foothills, but he could be wrong. He does not say anything to direct her, instead filling the silence with tasteless jokes and attempted affection. He has not told her again that he cares for her, but the looks he gives her are loaded with emotion nonetheless. Today he watches with a fevered sort of amusement as she dances in front of him, plucking flowers from the ground and pausing to tuck them into the dock of her tail. They set up a pattern; she draws ahead and he ambles behind, only to catch up to her as she pauses to accessorize. Then she is off again, and the cycle repeats. Zarina has spent much of her time burrowed in Quilyan's mane, but the mare's antics have brought her out of hiding. She scurries up his neck to perch easily on his poll. A soft chirp escapes her, and her emotions carry the question, though there are no words. The steed chuckles softly, then replies. "She wants the flowers to stay in her tail, young one. It is very pretty, don't you think?" Agreement floods through the bond, and then desire, for she wants to help. Quilyan frowns briefly; he knows that Resplendence will likely be afraid of his little marmoset, but he does wish them to get to know one another, for it would be about as easy for him to get rid of one as it would be the other - that is to say, it would be impossible for him to survive without either. She calls to him, and he smiles at her, lowering his maw obediently to the water and taking a long draught. It is cold, and he shivers as it makes its way down his throat, but it is refreshing all the same. "I think I should rest, my lady," he declares suddenly. The pain is worse today, though he tries very hard to ignore it. "I believe Zarina would like to assist you with the flowers, if you would allow it." It is a suggestion, and a bold one at that, but he has never been a subtle stallion. Zarina chirps cheerfully from his poll. "I believe I will lie down." His legs fold beneath him as he curls awkwardly away from his injured wing, then looks up at her, waiting for her response. |
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@[Resplendence] |
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Please tag Quilyan in all replies.
Use of force and/or magic (with the exception of death) is allowed at all times.
Want to plot with Quilyan? Visit his plot page here!
Use of force and/or magic (with the exception of death) is allowed at all times.
Want to plot with Quilyan? Visit his plot page here!
