For once Asterion looks forward to a party.
His heart is lighter on the way to the woods as he walks beside his sister, with Cirrus perched on his back. He is not yet familiar with the slight weight of the gull (nor of the way she shares his mind), but it is a comfortable strangeness. When they reach the clearing, all shadow and light, it is almost a magic thing: a setting for a fairytale. Florentine separates from him, off to meet her own strangers, and for a moment the bay only walks the perimeter of the gathering, his gaze slipping over each gathered member of the court.
Sometimes he still wonders at how he is able to care for so many, to hold such a thing in his heart as a home. The fact that most of those gathered are strangers doesn’t change anything; there are enough friends among them, after all.
Closer to the food, Cirrus whispers, and tugs at a strand of silver in Asterion’s dark mane. He laughs but complies, wandering nearer to the low wooden table to let her get a glimpse, though the ram-horned stallion catches both their gazes. The Regent pauses for a moment, and then steps nearer.
Mind that one, the gull murmurs, and then pushes herself from his withers and into flight. For a moment, as the brief pressure fades, Asterion images what it might be like to be able to join her.
And then he turns his attention back toward the stallion. He looks a fae thing in the firelight with his curving horns, his strange eyes – not a tame creature at all. The bay knows he’s seen him once before, brief as a passing shadow in the background of the city, but he doesn’t have so much as a name.
“I can’t decide,” he begins, and drops his gaze to the food laid out before them, “whether I’m in the mood for something more bitter or more sweet.” Truly there were options enough before them: cinnamon baked apples, and oat cakes drizzled with honey, and salads of dandelion and radish.
It is not food that the Regent is truly hungry for, but he is learning to pretend. Conversation, like battle, could be aided with a feint every now and again. Such is one of many lessons he is learning from Raymond.
“What is it you’re having?” He lifts his dark-eyed gaze again, meeting that striking golden eye. “I’m Asterion, by the way. I don’t believe we’ve met.”
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if you'll be my star*
