There is something behind the throne

Quilyan

greater than the king himself.

It is amazing the change that a single image can instigate.

His heels are flying through the air before Zarina can even react; the little marmoset squeaks in outraged indignation before tumbling unceremoniously into the little cave. She grumbles, pulling herself to her feet, shaking the ice and dust and who-knows-what-else from her fur, then studies the mare curled into a ball before her. It looks odd on a horse, and Zarina is sorely tempted to tell her she's doing it wrong. Horses sleep on their feet for a reason, after all, and the marmoset is convinced that it is because they simply are not flexible enough. The ground shakes beneath her; the walls shake above her. Rubble begins to fly, hard and fast, and she scurries over to the one-eared mare, partly to escape the rain fo debris, and partly to attempt to offer some comfort to her bonded's beloved.

She knows of Resplendence's fear, for she has felt it through the bond, and though she does not truly understand the depth of it, she knows better than to scurry onto the mare. Instead, she approaches the fae's cranium, chittering nervously, for should the creature lunge to its feet, all it would take is one good stomp, and Zarina would be done for. She is attempting, feebly, to calm and reassure the brindled femme, though she doesn't really know how to do it.

The wall is beginning to give now. He can feel it breaking beneath his hooves. No longer is he the desolate, depressed brute that had entered the caverns; no, he is reborn as himself once more, a strong, determined steed off to save his princess from certain death. He ignores the pains in his jarred wing, ignores the ache beginning to form in his pistons as they hammer the wall mercilessly, until finally in a great burst of snow and rock and dust, it gives way under his hooves. He lands from the last kicks, whirls, and freezes, his violet gaze glued to hers, at once blinded by her beauty and unable to tear his eyes away. "I can die now, for I will die happy," he says, his vocals dazed.

Instinct pulls his wings tighter to his bodice as he steps over the remains of the wall, slowly making his way closer to her, for he has found her. At last, he has found her! Thank the gods! his mind shouts as he closes the gap between them in only a few long strides, tosses his cranium over her nape gently, buries his nose in her tangled banner and inhales her sweet, sweet scent. He has dreamed of this moment, hoped for this moment, and as soon as he lost all hope, here it is. He says one more coherent thing - "My lady." - and then it is only her name that passes his lips in a hushed whisper repeated a hundred times over, as though saying it enough will hold her in his embrace forever.

[W/C | ---]
Walk walk walk.
Talk talk talk.
Think think think.

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