tasty, tasty, tasty

The weather was as agreeable as it could be for the season, she supposed. The sun was tucked safely behind a blanket cover of clouds and prevented Solis’ hours from reflecting painfully off of the snow. Llewelyn, for all her brilliance in gold and accessory, detested sunshine during snowy months; it was too sharp, too bright, and it hurt her eyes terribly to look upon the outside world when it was blazing away beneath that golden orb. At times, the mare wondered if it wasn’t entirely inaccurate to see the cold months as Solis’ domain instead of those scalding weeks of summer. 

After all, the desert only received a scant helping of snowfall, if any, while the other courts had the damnable flakes dumped upon them. Then, when the sun was pulled from Dawn into Day proper, the shimmering crystals of ice would blind and disable the strongest of warriors, giving all advantage of a defensible position to the sand dwellers. Plus, thought the maiden wryly, Day belonging to the hot and Night belonging to the cold is so cliched. 

Despite her general distaste for winter, however, the prospect of a little social climbing via the adored prince brightened Llewelyn’s outlook considerably. There was never a dull moment when there was chatter from royal mouths, after all; they tended to have the loosest tongues, especially when they thought they were being subtle. Of course, the Lady found herself appreciative of the boy-prince for more than potential gossip fodder; he was a sweet child, bright and well mannered. She could see how he had captured the heart of Delumine with such ease. 

Often, Llewelyn would hear the maids whisper about little Regis, calling him their golden boy and swapping his praises as if he were their own son. With or without his noble blood, the mare knew he would have climbed far in their courtly world. 

 Dropping her dowdy facade, the spotted femme returned the colt’s smile and gave a short bow in response to his greeting. Ears flicking forward to catch his words, Llewelyn nodded in understanding, the world was changing in these last few seasons, and it was becoming more and more difficult to maintain the innocence of foalhood. Even then, the young prince had shadows dogging his steps, echoes of his Father’s worries pressed against his thin shoulders. Part of her silently raged against such corruption of purity, even though she knew full well that the gods would not be dissuaded from whatever path of destruction they were leading everyone down. 

She prayed each Dawn and Dusk that there was a point to it all. 

“I agree,” Murmured the courtesan amiably, the jewels dangling from her horns emitting their usual bout of soft whispers between the sound of crunching snow and polite conversation, “The world seems quite a bit more peaceful when everyone else is inside the capitol. Less hustle and bustle, and more time to look around.” A small smile curled at the corner of her lips, “More opportunity to pay attention to what happens when we don’t interrupt nature, I suppose.” It was not a secret that she gave him, per se, but it was not a sentiment that Llewelyn would offer to many others. The mare preferred to keep quiet the things that caused her happiness, lest some spurned peon decide to use it against her. 

The horned maiden would have said more, would have offered an actual conversation, had the fox at Regis’ side not turn sharply toward the Rapax and snarled at the opposite shore. The boy-prince turned his attention toward the canid familiar and his expression turned fearful. ...There is something out there. His voice shook, causing a stutter, and Llewelyn’s ears immediately pinned to her skull in fright and indignation. Who would dare interrupt her daily outing? If she found out, they could consider their days living without the shame of rumor and disdain numbered. 

Maybe we should go back to the citadel. 

Glaring at the muddy bank, Llewelyn blinked a few times in shock as her brain registered just what she was seeing; the broken and mangled body of a river dolphin, half eaten and bloody upon the melted snow. Inhaling sharply, the cloaked maiden felt her pulse quicken, her heart beating a staccato rhythm within her chest. Glancing with wide eyes at Regis, Llewelyn prayed that he hadn’t yet spied the corpse. She backed up a few steps, feeling her jaw clench and her skin prickle - were they being watched? It felt like it, but what if she was just panicking? She continued to back away, eyes fixed stubbornly upon the shoreline and the grove of trees that sprouted just beyond the bank. 

“Mateo,” She snapped at the colt, not realizing that in her fear she had called him the wrong name until it had fallen from her lips. It was only natural, she would think later, for the most comforting presence in her life to spring to the forefront of her mind in moments like these. Blinking again, Llewelyn shook her head and tried again, “Regis, yes. Little Prince,” Her voice was hard, commanding, though her gaze was still glued to the darkness of the grove, “Look at me. Walk toward the citadel. Ask me no questions until we are inside the walls. Do as I say and do not look anywhere but at me or at the citadel.”

The courtesan swallowed, that rapid beat in her chest seemed to have risen to her throat, causing her mouth to become dry. Her tongue felt thick and unwieldy, yet she continued to move back, baring her teeth and flashing the whites of her eyes in warning to whatever watched them. The ivory painted woman was no warrior, she was made of silks and whispers, and fear dripped from her skin. If it came to it, if there was something wretched lurking in the shadows, what could she do? The only battles she had ever fought were through the subtleties of social sabotage, not through hoof or horn. 

Snapping her teeth at the air and swiveling her head to show off her scythe-like antlers, Llewelyn prayed with all her being that the pair of them looked like too much trouble to bother murdering.