SOMNUS
The sun was beginning to dip just beyond the horizon when he found Ulric behind the citadel. Somnus stood quietly for some time against the courtyard wall, hanging back, simply watching the Warden as he moved. Ulric had always been an exceptional warrior. In Vallen, in Novus, it didn’t matter. The roan moved with a graceful fluidity that Somnus could never even hope to replicate. Yes, he was graceful and dignified in his own way, but he would never be able to master the pure battle brilliance and stature that he had seen in so many soldiers.
Above them both, Alba whirled about in wide circles in the air, moving silently along the breeze with practiced ease. Should Ulric spot the barn owl, he would know that Somnus was not too far behind; the two were rarely apart. Just for show, Alba let out a shriek that pierced the cool evening air, a valiant cry for one still so young.
It was only when the Warden noticed that he was no longer alone and turned golden eyes his way did Somnus smile, emerald depths glittering with open admiration.
“You’ll drive yourself into the ground at this rate,” he stated in greeting, his accent a deep rumble with warmth and affection, “But an immaculate performance, as always.” Somnus hoped, belatedly, that Ulric didn’t mind his scrutiny, that he had watched as the roan had pushed himself through his paces. He wondered, abruptly, what kind of relationship Ulric had developed towards Kasil. Had they been on as personal a relationship as he and Ipomoea had been with the former King? Or did Ulric only regard Kasil as just that; a King he needed to serve?
The tactician approached, the earth passing by leisurely beneath his hooves. He moved towards the glaive with an elegant confidence, still smiling, completely at ease. Around Ulric, there was no hiding. There were never any reasons for political masks to be held up, for emotions to be grappled back and held behind a front of forced chivalry. Around him, Somnus could simply be himself, and he knew that his sudden gain of power would not change how Ulric viewed him. He was, and always would be, ‘Twinkle Toes.’
Twinkle Toes, the Dawn King of Delumine. He snorted.
Distance lessened so that they were mere inches apart and Somnus breathed in, feeling his stresses melt away. Ulric’s scent, the smell of sweat and a unique musk all his own, were oddly soothing. They were familiar. It smelled like home. Reaching out, the dunalino pressed his muzzle against his Warden’s warm shoulder, an intimate greeting that spoke of trust and friendship, of brotherhood. For a few selfish moments he remained quiet, trying to think of the words to say. Eventually he pulled back, let out a long, measured breath, and found Ulric’s golden gaze with troubled verde.
“We need to talk. Might I borrow a moment of your time?”
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