Love in a hut, with water and a crust,
Is - Love forgive us! - cinders, ashes, dust.”
- John Keats

So be it.

The hint of menace was meant to be nothing more than a subtle nudge for the mare to return to the safety of her herdland. A reminder that Cineviam wasn’t the only thing that went bump in the night, her mate could always thank him later. He could tell by the ever present smile upon the silver mare’s ashen lips that his message wasn’t received, or perhaps she was one of those independent types that assume they have everything under control. It doesn’t matter, whatever the reason, Daenery’s didn’t look like she was going anywhere and the soot-stained stallion did not care what happened to her beyond this brief meeting.

Despite his best intentions, Cineviam found himself sucked into a conversation. It was her voice – unfailingly kind as it falls smooth on the ear – and her smile that gripped him. Impossible to continue to ignore without bordering on disrespect, and allowed no room for an excuse for more threatening behavior. He remembered what Mauja said about not provoking an attack on the Edge until they were ready for one, so when she spoke next her words were received by attentive ears and a slightly more agreeable countenance.

Under protection of the moon… The urge to scoff and roll his eyes was just barely supressed. Lion-tail cracked like a whip against his side, further smudging his hip, the only outward sign of his prickliness toward the subject. He wondered if no one had told Daenerys that it was the season of the Sun God. Even the World’s Edge, the Moon’s own region, led by the Goddess’ staunchest follower was not safe from His wrath. The mention of Her children had stumped him. No one told Cineviam that they were guarding any outside their own. If not members of The Edge than who else would be considered Her children? A memory flashed before his eyes of a black mare with a golden dragon, leading a small group into The Edge during the Sun God’s visit. Crimson eyes narrow fractionally on the pregnant mare, no longer believing her as witless as he had before

Well, at least he didn’t have to worry about a jealous paramour barging in.

Naturally, what interrupted was worse.

The unknown voice had Cineviam calculating the distance between him and The Edge, where the doctor and a nurse could be found. Before he even laid eyes on the divine golden form, he knew that the voice belonged to the Sun God. It was animal instinct combined with superstitious logic – speak of the gods, think of the gods, and damn it a god shall appear.

Time seemed suspended as he turned his blood red eyes to approaching form, his heart knocking at his ribs more insistently, reminding him that it would like to keep beating. Even standing as tall as he could, he paled in comparison to the golden goliath – opening His wings like fire to consume and burn the world to ashes. The soot-stained mortal cannot help but smile, clutched through a grimace, in the face of the Grim Reaper; no doubt His scythe arched beneath the crook of his throat. “So pleased to see you again, under these more intimate circumstances” he purred back.

Before there were many, now there was just two – there would be no escaping notice this time.

“I don’t understand”, he answered calmly in the Sun God’s palpable fury. If it was about the ashes, Cineviam had been born with them. They were something he produced; he did not seek them out from the God’s. He knew they aided him but half the time their meaning was unclear and he wasn’t sure how they functioned in the first place, if it was magic or something else entirely. Perhaps the Sun God was disgusted because he had no part of them. Cineviam didn’t expect an answer. He only waited for a new display of power, perhaps accompanied by some suffering if not imminent death, and then a flashy exit like last time.

When the gilded eyes left him to glower at the Daenerys, an entirely selfish idea crossed Cineviam’s mind. A thought of splitting up, of putting distance between him and the alabaster mare so if the Sun God could target only one of them, surely it would be the slow, heavily pregnant one. She would be easy pickings.

He hadn’t taken a step before fire burst like a Molotov cocktail from the golden figure, showering flames. The hissing mass streaked at them and Cineviam dropped his head, resisting the urge to cry out when the wake of searing flames washed over him. He thought he smelled burning hair but he didn’t pause to check. In a couple of strides he reached Daenerys, head still low in a snaking motion, ears pinned and mouth agape as if to bite her. He meant to force her back into the river, maybe follow the current and outpace the fast spreading flames and exit in a safe spot. However, he wasn’t about to play wet-nurse. Daenerys was a burden that Cineviam didn’t want weighing him down. He could cover a greater distance, in less time, if he was all by himself than catering to a pregnant, perhaps wounded mare.

If she fought him, or fell behind – she’d get left behind.