Po has never met a god before.
So when Oriens - if it really is Oriens, the patron deity of Delumine - passes through the Court like a silent ghost, Ipomoea finds his heart filled with doubt. But he follows alongside the crowd anyway, his curiosity getting the better of him once again.
'He doesn't look much like a god,' a small voice whispers at the back of his mind. 'He looks half a corpse.' The thoughts are intrusive and shameful - and they were not wrong, so far as he could see. Aside from the glowing sun on the equine's forehead, the light and light appeared to have been snuffed out of him. His head droops, eyes half-closed; his coat was dull and patchy, his tail falling out; and he walked at a listless and ambling pace. There was very little about him that inspired awe or admiration or piety.
But his strange presence and stranger appearance still managed to draw quite the crowd. And Ipomoea is among that crowd, feeling half a child again when he's swallowed by the fray. He makes no attempt to force himself to the front and center, but rather remains on the outskirts.
And it is there that he waits, listening to the murmur of the crowd around him. Already one mare, her face still new to him, has spoken up - but Po himself would hold his tongue. For now.
hearts are breaking
wars are raging on
you’ve got me nervous
i’m at the end of my rope
hey, man, we can’t all be like you
i wish we were all rose-colored too
my rose-colored boy
@everyone ! notes
”here am i!“
