The sinking sun’s light cut through the space between cloud and sea in a blade of golden fire.

The horizontal pillar sliced through waves far below and stretched shadows into gnarled specters. Raglan knew that even has the blinding disc sunk beneath the oceans, it would burn, burn, burn, protesting with an endless and burning fury against that temporary death. He wondered how long the damnable sun would keep it up, for how many more millennia would it burn and rage and fight until it was reborn each dawn.

Maybe forever, maybe this was the last time.

Awash in golden light, the Crow soared over white capped waves and jagged rocks, pale eyes scanning the cliff walls for what he didn’t know. Wind buffeted against feathers and flesh, mane and tail, pulling the latter out in a cream colored banner. The winter swells were something that Raglan had never taken the time to witness — the lad had never been enthusiastic about gallivanting about in cold weather — but, he felt a distinct sensation of awe as he watched monstrous wave after monstrous wave crash, roar, tumble into and over one another.

He wondered if Icarus truly fell or if the boy had only been mesmerized by the chaotic rhythm of Lady Ocean.

He wondered if Icarus needed company.

Then, a flash of gold, solid and real, caught the pegasus’ attention. Tilting his wings, Raglan found himself gliding toward the burnished speck until it came into focus as a mare — a perfect palomino with a glistening coat and an expression of near-rapture on her face. He couldn’t help but smile a bit in response, and decided that some company could only add to the brilliance of a sunset. Spiraling downward, the mahogany stag came gently to the earth and sighed as his body adjusted to the sensation of gravity anchoring pale hooves to soil.

Moving so that he stood by the stranger’s side, Raglan offered a nod before letting his gaze drift back out to sea, “Careful that the wind doesn’t snatch you up and toss you down, I hear Lady Ocean feasts on pretty maidens when she is upset.”

That she didn’t move away comes as no surprise to the stallion, for his entire life he has honed the are skill of being disarming, of allowing those around him to relax. At first, he and his fellow Crows had sought to profit off of such a temperament, but Raglan quickly found that it bruised his heart more than lined his coffers. The bloody skinned youth had even gone so far as to sneak back the riches he had stolen, much to his Crows’ chagrin. From there, the pegasus had worn his heart openly, albeit dressed up beneath layers of humor and innocent flirtation.

The setting sun was painting the pair in blaring shades of vermillion and gold; for her part, the mare looked an angel, glistening and glimmering in that burnished skin of hers. Raglan felt himself nod appreciatively, feeling refreshed by the wholesome simplicity of he maiden’s design. It was rare, in the fantastical lands of Novus, to find an equine and not some mix of mythical and terran beasts. She held herself well, not that it was any matter what Raglan in the capacity of a stranger felt, but the stallion felt his heart gladden that she didn’t seem to have been beaten down by the dangerous whimsy of such a place as his home.

A smile graced her features and the stag couldn’t help but respond in kind as her reply drifted across the small distance between them, darkened lips tilting skyward. ”Ah,” He began, mischief flickering in the depths of opalescent eyes, ”Luckily I am no gentleman, and the Lady has grown accustomed to my wheeling over her waves like some great and crying gull.” He grinned wider, an almost-dimple appearing just behind the fold of his smile as he gazed toward the burning horizon.

”I would hope, however,” Raglan’s voice had softened noticeably, his charming grin slipping almost completely away to make room for a sort of wistfulness. ”That those men that dared scorn the Seas or her sisters were made to regret it however the scorned saw fit.” A beat of silence then, broken only my the monstrous roar and hiss of the crashing waves far, far below their crumbling precipice.

”I’m Raglan. Thank you — for not pushing me to the sea and for letting me join you. In truth, I had come out here to reminisce and feel sorry for myself, but I think you’re already proving to be better company than bittersweet memory.”

He nodded his horned skull, as if agreeing with himself, pale eyes still fixed upon the thrashing waters. The Silvertongue liked her already; he could tell from the way she had glanced at him from beneath lashes of spun gold, how the gentle steadiness of her soul had reached out and stilled his sparrow heart. She was good, and he was glad.