A S T E R I O N
in sunshine and in shadow*
He is too caught up in his own thoughts to see the memory flicker across her face, take her gaze far away for just a moment. If he’d seen (and if he knew her well enough for prying), he may have asked what she was thinking of – and then, at just the taste of a story, begged her to continue until he had his fill of tales.
But Asterion is swept up in his own story, and for once it is enough.
I shall, she says, and the bay smiles, and then the girl (strange, to think, she is still a stranger; much like meeting Eik, he already feels beyond exchanging names) is gone in a flurry of color.
She is easy to watch as she winds through the crowd, and Asterion keeps his gaze on her bobbing flower-crown, steeling himself against the waves of nerves that wash up against him. Long has he been aimless, but that does not mean he is one to go back on decisions once they are made.
So he waits, flicking an ear at the flurry of attention around him, drawing in deep breaths thick with woodsmoke. He is briefly startled to see her skirting back through the crowd with a band of children around her, but he goes to meet them gamely.
“Oh, hello,” he says loud enough to be heard over the lively courtyard, and drops his muzzle to greet each of them. “Thank you for helping. I’m Asterion.” His gaze flicks to her when she promises treats, and a conspiratorial grin edges out the shy smile he had been wearing. The youths likewise turn more bold, and he laughs as they dash off, jostling one another as they collect their brushes and paints. They put him in mind of a school of fish, quick and colorful between the legs of adults.
By the time they return all the worry has run out of him; why was he ever afraid? He takes in all the colors, the soft blues and deeply pigmented pinks, the silvers and lilacs. All the hues of dusk, some of which are already present in his coat. Around him they stand, a little flock that waits to make the first move, and over their heads Asterion meets the chestnut’s gaze.
“Okay,” he tells them. “You should begin – before I decide I am too ticklish.” There are a few grins exchanged, and then they set to their task. It does tickle; Asterion laughs as a black filly with a thick white blaze paints whorls along his neck, and tries to keep his skin from twitching and hooves from stamping as the feather-soft brushes kiss color along his coat.
“You are good helpers, and good artists too,” he says as they continue their work. “Thank you all, very much.” At this last his eyes find the lion-eyed girl again, his gaze full of gratitude. “You were right. I feel braver already.”
@Cyrene ahh I admire your world-building, I need to stretch my using-NPC-muscles
