Quilyan

He was a simple man, once upon a time, in a land far, far away. Of course, his was a simpler life - living at the beck and call of the court, with nothing to worry about other than the distant future in which his father would unwillingly leave the land to his rule. The prince did not think on his future very often, for it had all seemed so obvious, so solid, so tangible - he had never imagined that his father would fall sooner rather than later, that he would never have the chance to save his kingdom from the Anarchist threat. He had never dreamed of a world without his mother, his sisters, his brothers - had never wondered at the path that he had been given. And yet, in the span of a few heartbeats, he had watched it all burn to ashes, had watched the castle set to flame, had watched its inhabitants flee - all but the few souls he wished and hoped and yearned to see. The king and queen, he knew, had fallen - but he had not thought that the rebellion would claim the lives of children. His innocent siblings had been murdered that day, save Erigor and Nasreen; the former had disappeared soon after their arrival in Helovia, and the latter had only recently found him by chance. He was grateful for her, of course - but he could not help but regret the times he had lost with the rest of his family.

Today, the Specter wanders through the dense forest of the World's Edge, his home and his realm; though he does not claim a formal title, he has risen to leadership all the same. It is not, perhaps, accompanied by the fanfare and fawning crowds of the monarchy he would have had, but somehow he has found that this quiet role, so imperative to his family, suits him far better. He keeps to the shadows, and he acts as a protector, regardless of his ability or desire to fight. He deals in secrets, trades in information, and somehow that is enough. He is busy, of course, but that's for the best - it drives out the memories, the pain, the suffering; or at least those damages that Resplendence could not cure him of. The thought of the petite mare brings a smile to his face, though he has not been able to spend much time with her of late. He misses her, but at least he knows that she is safe within the borders of their herdland. And he has his locket - an invaluable asset in protecting his lady.

Despite the summer heat, it is cool beneath the mists of the World's Edge. Shade dapples his bi-colored pelt, leaving him a shimmering mix of gold and ivory. He keeps his wings folded tightly to his sides, a habit that he has gained from his time with Resplendence. He knows that she no longer fears him, but he cannot forget her terror when they first met. It was silly, of course - his wings were no more capable of beheading her than the petal of a rose - but she often fell prey to even the most irrational fears. And he, the gallant prince, had fallen under her spell and striven to cause her as little pain as possible. If holding his wings in an uncomfortable position made Resplendence breathe a bit easier, then holding his wings in an uncomfortable position, he would do. On occasion, he ruefully remembers the days when he did not have to work so hard for a female's affection; but he always laughs at his own arrogance and remembers fondly the first time his lady admitted her love.

A small figure catches his attention, snapping him out of his reverie. Zarina, startled from a nap that she had been enjoying while tangled in his mane, scurried to his poll, as though required to identify the interruption. You are ridiculous, he told her through the bond, barely managing to stop himself from rolling his eyes. She snorted softly, nonplussed. The pygmy marmoset had taken it upon herself to keep her bonded from even so much as looking at another female, determined to keep him from straying back to his old, womanizing ways. And you are a flirt, she responded with a sniff. The individual under scrutiny was young (far too young for the prince) and rather plain, though Zarina supposed that was his type. At least Resplendence was a relatively solid color. Quilyan ignored the monkey's monologue as he stepped from the shadows, vaguely identifying the mare as a member of their herd. A trail of flowers followed her, and a flash of red drew his attention briefly to a companion flying overhead. ...Valiance? he wondered, but didn't have time to properly identify the creature.

"Good morning," he greeted the mare with a cheerful grin. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything. I was merely on a morning stroll, and I happened to stumble into your company. I'm not sure we've met - I am Quilyan. Might I have the pleasure of knowing your name, my dear?"

"Talk talk talk."