Pausing, Morozko turned his narrow head toward the source of the noise. He waited until the figure resolved into the shape of an equine before giving a wordless nicker – a sound both welcome and warning. 

He ought to have seen her sooner - someone that striking. Once your eyes first caught gold she was unmissable, and his gaze did not stray from her again as she drew near. Morozko’s silver eyes find her gold ones and his expression softens, though the line of his mouth is still firm when he reads the amusement plain in her features.

At her laughter - and her use of the word boy, as though he is anything but a stallion grown and tried - he wonders whether he ought to have stuck with the turtle.

But she seems harmless enough, and he’s too new to Novus to jump into making enemies out of neutral encounters. “And a pretty enough one,” he says, and his expression does not give away how he might have meant the words. Let her make assumptions the same as he was.

The mare - more out of place than even he in this swamp, though he couldn’t have said why - makes mention of the beast he’d been watching, and the unicorn glances back over his shoulder. There is no sign of the creature now; only brown water with a sickly sheen and a claw-marked slope of mud. “Turtle?” he repeats, and the thoughtful way he shapes the word makes it clear it’s a foreign one to him. “Is that what you call it?”

There is nothing embarrassed in his features when he faces her again; Morozko is a proud creature, to be sure, but he has never seen shame in ignorance born of lack of experience. But he can still read some of the teasing in her tone, and his mouth shapes an easy smile. “I’ve never run across one before. I was simply impressed with its defense system - such a shield as I haven’t seen. It made me wonder if there’s something dangerous around, but…” he shrugs, dropping his angular head so that he’s looking at her slant-ways. “I guess there’s only you.” His quick grin, then, is a wicked little thing.

Here was another fascinating discovery - Morozko hadn’t expected to have fun out here in the swamp.

He can’t decide if it’s a blessing that she isn’t from the Dusk Court, or trouble.

@Inkheart morozko no

She takes both his compliment and his playful barb as well as he’d hoped, and Morozko is surprised at the pleasure it gives him. In Hiemsterra, most reactions came slowly as sap in midwinter, whether anger or joy. It was rare that he came across anyone such as she; rarer still that he was in a position to tease and test in the first place. Perhaps he was already suffering from the break in discipline from his soldier’s life. 

He’d missed that routine since his arrival in Novus, the order in knowing what your day would entail. But he finds he doesn't miss it quite so much at the moment.

“Then the rose is a particularly good touch,” he answers, but his smile is softer, now, matching her laugh. 

He doesn’t move when she nears, though he arches his neck and tips his horn, opening himself for inspection. It feels, strangely, like standing before his commander in the royal guard; still, his eyes follow her with more interest than they ever watched Borya. Only his ears move, tracking her, first one and then the other. The silver earrings glint in the weak sunlight that filters through the moss-hung trees. 

“I’m Morozko. And I live in the Dusk Court.” It’s then that his posture loosens and he turns toward her, extending his dark muzzle toward her shoulder and the strong line of a wing. Not close enough to touch, just close enough to catch the scent of her over the humid foliage-and-water smell of the swamp.

“And you…” he might have taken her for a creature of the Night Court, but he remembers well the smell of their sovereign, the woodsmoke and witch-light in his eyes. The scent she carried was harder, brighter, and all that gold - but it was the necklace she wore that made him certain. “Solterra.” Perhaps he should have guessed it before — but then, she might have guessed where he was from, considering the swamp he stood in. “So what brings you this far southwest? You’re a long way from home.” And yet, when it came to home, he was far, far further. 



@Inkheart 

By now he’s withdrawn slightly, giving her back her space. But the stallion’s eye is caught (as was surely her intent) by the flick of her tail, the slight melodic jingle of the golden coins there, and before he answers her he allows his gaze to make its way back to her face languidly. It travels back over the rose on the curve of her hip, the scatter of gold like stardust on her wings, the necklace around the feminine arch of her neck. Perhaps, in a way, she is dangerous, but the thrill he feels is far from fear.

“I’m sure the view from up there is unparalleled.” Still his voice is level as a hand along smooth stone, but there is that faint curve on his lips, that glimmer in his silver eyes as they watch her gold ones. It is clear he’s enjoying their verbal exploration of one another, clearer still his words can be taken more than one way.

He’d thought his…assignment in Terrastella would mean the end of the types of relationships he’d enjoyed, on occasion, at the Winter Court. But Morozko was beginning to wonder if this might be one of the rare times where he’d be delighted to be wrong.

With some reluctance, he turns his attention away, back to the stillness of the swamp around them. He feels lazy as a cat in the thick heat, but he’s glad he came, gladder still he’d found something far more diverting than the turtle. Though he studies a sudden ripple in the bog some distance away, one black-edged ear remains trained on her, making clear where his attention truly lies.

“And have you seen anything of particular interest on your travels…?” He leaves a conspicuous pause after the question, a place where her name ought to go. It is only fair, after all, now that she had his. Otherwise, he’d have to come up with his own things to call her.

Not that he isn’t up for the challenge.


@Inkheart 

His smile sharpens at her reply, turning almost vulpine. “Mmm. Is that so?”  If she doesn’t know why she’s flirting with him, he’s just as helpless to name a reason, but he’d be damned if he wasn’t enjoying it all the same. Enough of his life was filled with orders and reasons and regiments; here, in this moment, he was only a man.

A man in the presence of a most intriguing stranger, though they were working on that point.

Inkheart. He likes the name, the way she rolls it off her tongue, the imagery it implies. She glides nearer, a whisper of darkness beneath the shadow of the trees, and Morozko shifts his stance, opening his posture to her. The mares of the Winter Court were traditionalists; he often found himself the pursuer. But there is something agreeable about the way she advances on him, the almost predatory tilt to her finely-shaped head. It’s easy to forget they’re standing on a rare patch of dry ground in the midst of swamp, with the drone of insects all around. Easy to tune out even the trilling calls of birds in favor of the low-throated sound of her voice.

He doesn’t reach out to close the space between them, but he imagines he can feel her breath stir the lilac hairs of his coat. At her words he draws in a long breath and wonders if her heart is having as difficult a time as his keeping a steady rhythm. It feels illicit, this game they’re playing; perhaps the long shadows, the gnarled, reaching branches, the slow and murky water is a setting that suits them, after all.

Oh, but he would like to see her in all sorts of settings.

“I’d be happy to share what I know with you.” His voice comes out rough and low as she strokes so lightly along his spine, and it is chased by a shiver deeper than any he’d felt in the depths of winter. For a moment he closes his eyes, giving in to the feeling alone - and when he opens them it’s to turn toward her wing, heavy with the scent of her. At first he glides his muzzle along it, each soft breath stirring the downy feathers there; then, gently as a kiss, he closes his teeth on a feather and tugs. To touch her was to taste ambrosia; Morozko is suddenly greedy for more.

It is an effort, then, to withdraw - even if it’s just enough to face her again, meeting those golden eyes like a dare. “I’m sure there are plenty more things you could show me. I’m new to Novus…but I’m a very fast learner.” And there were far more interesting things than turtles to acquaint himself with.



@Inkheart  idk but I am highly amused