the drowned prince
Eight pairs of slender legs cut through the summer grass and flowers like scythes during harvest-time. The sunlight was as golden and soft as she; dust motes swam in the aureate rays, swirling like river-eddies as they passed by. His thin skin still tingled with the brush of her golden feathers—had she blessed him? Florestan half expected flowers to bloom from where she touched him, but unfortunately nothing sprouted from his fur other than dirt and dust. As they made their way towards the willow, he shoved his nose into the furrows made by the flower girl, snuffling through the stalks with his nimble lips in hopes of finding another one of her petals. He decided that he quite liked this fairy queen; her flowers gave him a sense of comfort that nothing else (other than the rain) could ever hope to grant him. When he closed his eyes and thought of home, he envisioned another violet woman with flowers in her hair. She didn't have wings though, and her smile always seemed far-away, as if seen through a telescope—this flower lady seemed more present though, like she wanted to be here, in the moment, with him. He thought that was a beautiful thing. The flower girl turned back to look at him, answering his half-mumbled query with something akin to mischief glimmering in her lilac eyes. They pause in the willow's shadow; a much-needed breeze threaded its gentle fingers through the fronds. "Yes," Florestan answered her, a serious expression cast over his youthful features. Right then, he almost appeared grown-up, although the too-long legs and the baby face would disperse any of those notions. His blue gaze wandered onto the horizon, settling on a herd of bison, made into a rather impressionistic brown splotch by the distance. The grass behind them was a golden canvas framed by an endless blue panel of sky. The rain boy let a gentle sigh slip past his lips, and he glanced back at her. "Flowers grew in my mother's hair, too. They sprang up wherever she stepped." He hoped the fairy wouldn't be able to see the sadness swimming in his big blue eyes of his, but his face was far from a closed book to the world. I have an ointment that might help that at home. Where do you live? she asked, purple gaze contemplating him. His eyelashes fluttered uneasily—Florestan looked down, suddenly finding the grass beneath his forehooves very interesting. "I don't know," he admitted, glancing back up at her. "I washed up on the shores of Vitreus Lake a few days ago." That much he knew. "That's part of Denocte, or at least, that's what I've been told." He shrugged. Perhaps the fact that he had appeared in Night Court made him a citizen, but at the moment, he felt absolutely lost. A brief moment of silence passed, and the rain boy watched her curiously now. "Where do you live?" Not that he would know where any place she would answer would be. Another pause; a shy smile. "I'm Florestan, by the way." |
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