Ulric was not wrong - it was not hard to find the black pegasus. All Po had to do was browse the skies then head towards the library.

The dark, earthen floor muted his footsteps as he walked, the woven canopy of the trees blocking out sound both within and without the library. It was always a strange thing to him; one moment he was walking through the forest, following a well-worn trail that winded back and forth through the trees. The path would gradually become more overgrown, the trees wider and spaced closer together, until they seemed to grow into one another altogether. Where once a thousand trees stood, a single massive tree now grew, merged into one being through the years and by magic. It was a wonder and a mystery to behold, one that never failed to amaze Ipomoea.

He would happily stay here forever - in another time, another life. Perhaps one with less responsibilities, less war and strife, one where a spotted orphan could read to his heart’s content.

Alas, that was not this life.

The library helper was all too happy to help the Regent. So happy in fact, that for a moment he feared they were playing one of their beloved tricks on him, pulling his leg and stringing him along in the direction opposite of what he’d asked. But true enough, when they lead him to the hidden alcove it was Mateo there waiting for him. As the fox-like creature ran back into the depths of the library, Po offered a warm smile to the pegasus.

"Mateo," he greets, his voice feeling strangely hushed. It was hard to not speak quietly here, where it was so peaceful the drop of a pin would be heard. "I was indeed."

He wanders forward, letting his eyes roam over the scrolls and book titles arranged on the table. It would seem the scribe had been hard at work for a while now - and he was not surprised to see it. One in particular caught the Regent’s attention, and a half smile hid at the corner of his lips. "Ah, the A Journey Along the Rapax, with Zosimas the Monk. I believe there’s some illustrations of our pink river dolphins in there that Regis may be interested in." He turns the pages gingerly, admiring the fine script of the man who’d written it all those years ago. "Of course, Zosimas was quite doubtful of their existence in the beginning, but you can feel the wonder in his words when he writes about seeing them for the first time. Really the best part of the book if you ask me."

Ipomoea closes the book, setting it slowly back down on the table. He was stalling and he knew it; he only hoped it wasn't too obvious.

"You’re hard at work I see, I hope I’m not disturbing you?" I have a favor to ask, he didn't say, not yet.

His smile is soft, nearly hidden yet ever-present. Perhaps it was more habit than anything else, or maybe the Regent truly was happy all the time. He was an optimist at heart, and a dreamer; life was always vibrant and bright when he was around even on a rainy day.

Even when the world was aflame and queens were dead or missing - but that was a talk for another time.

Have you?



He lifts his eyes from the book, turning them to Mateo instead. “I have not,” he admitted. “Unless you count glimpses, but those may have been more imagination than anything else, a trick of the mind.” For a moment, he was thoughtful. Ipomoea did not spend enough time at the Rapax, especially where the water ran deep enough for the dolphins to enjoy. He always told himself he would visit more - but then again, he supposed the infrequency of his trips were precisely what made them so special.

“But I know honest men who claim to have seen them, and I trust them and their writings.” He nods towards the book in question, with its worn leather cover and fading, golden title. “Perhaps one day I will, I would like that.”



But when? His mind is turning into a wicked thing, with its doubts and its questions. He would much rather live in sweet, eternal oblivion - and for a while, Delumine had been that for him. The Dawn Court was a field of red flowers and a good book, the fragrance of petals and parchment and the warmth of the sun. It was easy to lose himself in joy and peace when every day was spring within their borders. Somehow Delumine had a way of staying pure even while the rest of the world struggled; like a breath of fresh air coming off the ocean. And yet…

He lets out a shaky breath, unaware that he had been holding it while the silence stretched between them. His eyes float around the room, from the stacks of books to the shaded window, anywhere but Mateo.

“I’m leaving.”



The words felt strange on his tongue, like he shouldn’t be speaking them. They didn’t belong to him, couldn’t belong to him. Who was Ipomoea, if not the Regent of Delumine? And who was a Regent, if he abandoned his court? Even being certain in his choice, he still could not believe he was speaking the words aloud.



“I’ll be on my way to Denocte by nightfall, and I- I need someone to be my eyes and ears here while I’m gone.” Finally out of places to look, Ipomoea finds himself returning to the verdant gaze of the pegasus. For half a heartbeat he can’t speak, his tongue tying itself into knots. But he can’t stop now, not yet.

“Will you, can you do that for me? I know we’ve only spoken a few times, but I-“ he couldn’t say for sure why he had chosen to go to the pegasus. Mateo was friends with Regis, who was like a nephew to him, and he was well read and charming; but it was the language they shared that drew the Regent to him. It was one of songs and stories, of daydreams and love, flowers growing through a concrete forest.  

“But I know when I can trust someone.”

He wonders if Mateo can see the sadness in his smile, the way it doesn’t quite reach his eyes or stretch across his features the way it would any other day. He hopes he doesn’t; Ipomoea would hate for the pegasus to think it was something he had done, or that the Regent did not like him so much. It was only the heaviness weighing on his heart, the admission that was yet to come.

But he pushes it to the side for a moment longer, and his tone is sincere when he turns back to the other man. “I would like that,” he says softly. “Very much, in fact.”



He holds his gaze for a long, wavering minute before looking away. He doesn’t make any promises, doesn’t vow to hunt down the elusive river dolphins with him. It’s impossible to know yet when he’ll get the chance to - if he’ll get the chance to. So he settles for a smile and bites the inside of one cheek, willing the day to stop, willing the hour to turn backwards and repeat itself so that they might have all the time in the world to talk about fables and plan adventures.

But alas, the world didn’t stop for anyone, let alone for Po.

He watches Mateo’s face carefully, witnessing the lines deepen and the confusion etch itself in those grooves. But he doesn’t have any more of an explanation to give - he had kept himself up at night arguing with his own mind, and still he had come to no solid conclusions.

He was certain that he had to go. But he was less certain on why.

Ipomoea had told himself he would find out when he arrived, that if it was some destiny pulling him to the other Court then surely all would be revealed soon enough. But that was hardly a good excuse to give anyone who questioned him, especially when for all means and purposes it appeared as if he were about to abandon his Court. His smile diminishes, until it’s a sorry wisp of a thing hiding on his lips.

“It has to be me.” His words are as soft as his smile, and almost as sad. How could anyone stand in his place when his mission was intrinsic in nature? Denocte didn’t need him, of that he was almost positive; he needed Denocte.

He watches as Mateo clears his throat, and lowers himself into a bow. His heart feels unsettled by the gesture, as if whispering to his veins of how undeserving it is of such regard. But his doubts are his own, and not something he’ll unload on the other pegasus. Not here, not now.

“Thank you,” his voice is warm, but his brows are still furrowed. He forces them to relax, to make his smile softer, his face more welcoming, but it’s hard. Harder than it ought to be. “It makes me glad to know you’ll be here.” And it does - despite the uncertainty he catches in the scribe’s tone, despite his youthful nature. Ipomoea had been young and tentative once. It was his rank that had made him blossom, that had secured him his confidence. He had no doubt that Mateo would rise to the occasion; and besides, the Regent was a man with a forgiving nature.

He clears his own throat now, trying to swallow past the thickness that closes around his chest. “I don’t want to keep you too long,” he says. ”And I’m sure I’ve given you much to think about already.” The library was often a place of solitude; there was an atrium calling his name even now, where the canopy parted to reveal the sky and a small pond played sweet music to fill the quiet room. It was his favorite place to come and reflect, when he made the journey to the library. He wanted to visit it one more time before his departure.

But he doesn’t leave just yet. Hesitation is etched into his soul, knowing that once he leaves this room, he can’t come back. Time won’t ever stop.

When will you be back?



How could such an innocent question hurt so badly?

It tore at his heart, tearing a hole that surely didn’t belong there. It hurt to breathe, hurt to answer, hurt to hear those words reverberating through his mind, burning like fire through each synapse. Ipomoea took a slow breath.

Did he lie? 



Or did he tell the truth?



“Hopefully soon,” he settles for, even though it’s no proper answer at all. But swallows it anyway and chases it down with a smile, one that he desperately wishes to be as full of joy as he is of sadness. He doesn’t want Mateo to know what he’s feeling, to see the uncertainty hiding between the sharp planes of his face.

He turns to leave then, dismissing himself -

”- Mateo?”

He stops at the door, hovering just upon the threshold.

A thousand words hover on the tip of his tongue, jumbling themselves up until they’re so badly entangled he can’t put together his own thoughts. He tilts his head around to peer at the dark pegasus over his shoulder, taking in again the dark walnut desk strewn with books and bits of parchment, the small alcove with the dark green trees just outside the window.

Then he smiles again, and he tries - he really does this time - to fill it with all the warmth and optimism he doesn’t quite feel. It was a good thing he was doing, the right thing. He could make himself be happy about that, if only to ease the minds of others.

“Don’t go looking for those pink river dolphins without me, okay?”



The laughter that touches his eyes, the smile imbuing his voice, is real, promising himself that his first order of business upon his return would be to seek out his new friend. Surely, if the world could keep itself together for that long, it would make a little more time for two friends to enjoy a short visit to the river.

He turns back to the door, and the hair upon his spine raises as he crosses the threshold.

“And I’ll make sure the owls know where to find me in Denocte.”



Then he’s gone, wandering the quiet library halls to find his own quiet place to think, his heart feeling the smallest bit lighter than before.