This wasn't at all what the pale mare had expected. He wasn't at all what the pale mare had expected.

She blinked away sleep, coral eyes climbing ever higher to find that the sky had taken on shades of periwinkle and blush; dawn had arrived and the winged woman had slept peacefully for an entire night. The surprise came slowly, though even at its full force the emotion remained gentle, muted somehow. Orithia couldn't recall the last time she had slept without waking, the last time she had dreamed of pleasant things, the last time she had closed her eyes without fear. Memory brushed against the back of her mind, softly reminding the girl that she was not alone, yet, how could she forget? Her lips curled, pale gradient of color matching the venus-clad skies; she had never realized that morning would prove to be such a compliment to her looks.

She had never known that chaos didn't suit her.

The valiant, the dove, the warrior, the whore; she was all those things and more, she was growing - this she now understood. A laugh threatened to press from her sides, to spring into the balmy air and sing to the heavens that she knew, now; she knew that those darker parts that made her up, they were something good. They would all lead to something good, as long as she willed them to.

It was hard to keep the tears from spilling over, hard to keep the contentment and happiness from spilling over.

She turned her head toward him, toward the scarlet brute that she had began to hate with such a sickly sweet affection. Small enough were the things he gave her, small enough were the parts she understood, but somehow and somewhere through the night, the gift he had given her had blossomed into peace. Pressing her cheek more firmly against his neck, Orithia sighed, a silent prayer upon her lips to no one in particular - maybe no one at all - that no matter how far she strayed, no matter where her beaten and battered heart would lead her, she would not forget the moment under the dawn sky where she finally felt at peace.

"Gaal," His name tasted so odd upon her tongue, whispered against sleep-warm skin, "Graasvoel, if it's alright with you, I'd like you to stay here from now on. You're quite a bit more tolerable than you let on."

And apparently so am I.

graasvoel

Morning came, as it always came, with a general discomfort at the base of his barrel. And it was stirred into further, more painful pulses as a soft, satin pressure pushed into his thick neck; raptor eyes of yellow and red slowly and blearily blink open. The morning’s light was muted and pastel—it was early, yet. The hulking stallion usually saw this part of the morning only if he had remained awake doing other deeds.

Thus, his attention focused on the pale cheek against his neck and blushed body that shifted beneath this wing. His sensitive skin at the juncture of feathers and coat felt her silken hide move in a sleepy sigh. Though his head remained tucked to his thick, reddish knees; eyes were half-mast; only a slow swivel of his a white ear and a gentle squeeze of his wing around the woman’s body beneath it gave any indication of him hearing the dove say his name.

A low, grunted hum was the only verbal response to her candid, sleepy confession and invitation. Later, he would revel in his small triumph against Orithia’s rage and hate. But, for now, in the early morning calm, he did not outright reply to her whispers. His response was a sleepy shift of his head; moving his muzzle from its place at his chest to tuck around into hers at his side. If she would allow the drowsy gesture, his thick neck would engulf and embrace the soft check-press she had put there.

And then, knowing full-well that any movement towards activities more pleasurable than sleep would destroy this tenuous peace, he slowly began to let sleep’s waves ebb away at his consciousness.