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He wipes his horn off against his right foreleg, scrubbing at the white bone furiously until the flecks of dirt and clods of mud that clings to the pearl spirals drop off sullenly, returned to the earth once more. Earlier that night he had been drawing in the mud, writing and carving elaborate drawings and stories, watching as the shapes took to life beneath his careful eye. Now he dreams of the stories and poetry, letting words slide across his rarely attentive mind.
A scabrous venture/Insipid continuation/Cold wet/Black bruises.
Sold love/Never-ending idolatry/Shattered words/Frozen wings/Frost glittering on cold mane/Snow-doused.
The words fall apart, lifeless and unwilling to conjoin, and he sighs in frustration, unable to weave them together. He wonders if his mother would be able to bring them together into a flowing river of falling water droplets, with her crystal voice dipping and flying with each word, bringing them to life with her beauty and her strength of heart. Never would he admit it, but he loved his mother, the princess with amber eyes and a fixed smile, her shining horn of perfect, chiselled ebony, obsidian singing a death song as it reaped the lives of traitors. For all her beauty, she was nothing but an executioner, for all her height in life she was unable to do anything but kill and say the last words, hand out the sentences and carry them through. "I must protect our kingdom," she told him the first time he watched her kill, and he fled with tears falling like diamonds from his eyes, coward-coward-coward-coward ringing through his mind.
She was a murderer, and so he planned his escape, and like one of his mother's given sentences, he followed through with it, hiding the pain inside as he ran.
Wandering mind brought back by a voice, rich and subtle and gentle, a prince's voice, and Carnesîr whips around, leaping so high it seems impossible, nearly shedding his skin in sudden fear. For a moment, he thinks the stallion is father, and he shrieks in elvish, unleashing a tide of harried words flying at the grullo stallion, shouting out "Galathilgalathilgalathil." And then he realizes suddenly and unpleasantly no it's not his father not even a family member not even a unicorn oh fuck why is he going crazy is this normal. It's just a horse, with cobwebs on his face and a pleasant smile on his face, and there's a dragon. Dragon-dragon-dragon. He repeats, likely the sound of the words in his head. What did they call them at home? Ilaéwe.
"Who are you, pretty dragon?" He laughs, eyes sparkling as he admires her lithe white body, admiring her beautiful teeth. Then his eyes drift to grullo's amber ones, and his lips quirk into a tentative smile, his voice a small apology. "sorry. Thought were you someone I knew."
As if that wasn't clear already.
"I am Carnesîr; how did dragon yours find you?" He asks, tail twitching in boyish excitement, gaze switching back to the dragon with awe shining in his eyes.
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[P] The light of which chases the night sins away
