Pious and pretty with a deadly disease;

[Morozko]

morozko and all our footprints in the snow. Summer would have its way with him, it seemed; bright daylight slipped between the cracks of his eyelids when he slept, and the heat was a warm hand always on him. He was not made for it, would never love it, was only now coming to tolerate it — but he would be lying if he said some part of it did not make him think of her. Heat like bright July and golden eyes that burned, their banter quick as an afternoon storm.  It drew a smile even now.  And maybe that was a gift, too, for smiles had been few and far between for the unicorn of late. The more he learned of the people of Dusk, the more his loyalties to Hiemsterra felt ill-fitting, an itch like shedding out his winter coat. Each night, when he said brief prayer to Glacies, he envisioned Rannveig’s green eyes on him when she asked him to be Warden. He ought to have been glad; it was a better position than he could have hoped for, to know the workings of Dusk beyond a commoner’s knowledge. But he had never been a liar, and the thought of playing spy chafed, worrying him like wolf jaws on a bone in the bitterest of winter.  Which was why, when he caught a certain scent - a scent of sand and summer and day, her scent, unmistakable and unforgettable - he thought he’d conjured it himself out of desperate need for distraction. Morozko stopped where he’d stood, deep within the citadel where the stone was still cool and the shadows deep.  It was faint, a ghost of a thing, but there were two others along with it, ones he knew just as well: Rannveig, and blood.  A disconcerting mixture, all in all.  The sound of his footsteps followed him as he continued, sunlight skimming over his back each window he passed beneath, and he did not allow his pace to quicken as he turned for the infirmary. When he found it, it was quiet, though there were sounds of stirring from within. He did not hold his breath as he rounded the corner - and as soon as he saw her he froze. The length of a heartbeat passed, then two, before his soldier’s instincts overrode his surprise and he swept his silver eyes over her. When they found the bandage wrapped around her leg, his mouth drew into a grim line. “That’s a hell of an excuse to come back here,” he said, his gaze slipping back to hers. “What’s the other guy look like?”  @Inkheart hey girl hey

[Inkheart]

Inkheart

JUST LIKE FIRE, BURNING OUT THE WAY
IF I CAN LIGHT THE WORLD UP FOR
JUST ONE DAY WATCH THIS MADNESS
COLORFUL CHARADE NO ONE CAN
BE JUST LIKE ME ANYWAY

She limps through the Dusk Court, having just left Rannveig behind. Her leg is feeling much better than before, less agonizing but still pained and stiff. A white linen bandage is wrapped around her forearm, covering the incision that had been made to allow the healing to take place. She knows not why the incision was made nor what the magic processes were that set her bones to healing correctly. All she knows is that she is on the mend. The gash over her side has a paste over it, created with herbs that provide an analgesic effect and help prevent infection. There is no guarantee that she will not have a scar there.

The ebony mare is so distracted with these thoughts of her wounds, the healing, and the Queen that she does not even notice the arrival of a familiar grey unicorn. She's startled as his voice meets her dark ears, and her crown snaps up, golden eyes meeting his silver ones. Based off his expression, he's not amused. To see her? At her wounds? She doesn't presume to know and she returns his flat stare. "The other guy is carrion." She huffs, and a glimmer of fierce pride and joy dashes across her face.

And yet, she limps forward toward him, stopping a short distance away. "Rannveig has a reputation as a good healer. I needed assistance." Why she feels the need to defend her actions against him, she's unsure. Her golden gaze briefly roams over him. "You seem to be well." Instead of just a statement, an observation, it's almost like an accusation, because she means much more than his health. Some part of her wonders how he felt about that night. How much he might have enjoyed it, or not.... She sure did. A flush comes to her cheeks, heating her slowly from within, as she remembers it all in vivid detail. Thank Solis a flush does not show under an onyx coat.

WC: | Tag: @Morozko | I guess she's not sure how she feels XD

GUESSWHO