Raymond.
and at his feet they'll cast their golden crowns
when the man comes around
Isra was afraid of him. He could see it in her eyes, in the bend of her uncertain lip, but next to the fires of his displeasure consideration for her immediate feelings seemed small and irrelevant. What good would kindness do her now, when she jumped at shadows in her own home? How long had it been since she slept in the confidence that she was truly safe?
"Thank you." He fell somewhat into step with her, conscious at least of the courtesy of maintaining his distance.
They made the journey in silence, for silence was all the night court had to offer, and between them nothing passed but glances of uncertain calculation. The red stallion may as well have been walking with his blade to her throat, so stiffly obedient she was in her escort. He considered apologizing and didn't. She would not believe him just now.
When they arrived at the rookery - of course it was ravens, he thought - Raymond swept past Isra like a portentous wind and set to scribbling out hurried notes on a couple of spare bits of parchment. The script was cramped and messy with the ire vibrating through his blood, but it was legible and the messages succinct.
The first was long; the second, much shorter - and much more difficult to write.
He approached a well-rested pair of ravens, smiling as he murmured soft pet-talk to them, and fastened a note to the leg of each one. To the first he murmured a quiet destination and the beast ruffled itself importantly before taking wing. Delicately he stroked his muzzle along the feathered crown of the remaining bird and whispered something more. "This is very important to me," he finished, and with a guttural kraaak the final raven took flight, leaving Raymond alone with Isra and the rest of the watchful rookery.
Storm crows.
When he turned back to Isra, the fire in his eyes burned just as brightly, but his expression was quieter, softer.
"I'm sorry for frightening you. My name is Raymond." He nodded curtly in lieu of a proper introduction. "If someone asks if you've seen me, say what you have to say to keep yourself safe."
And with that he swept out of the rookery, a silent storm of blades.
"Thank you." He fell somewhat into step with her, conscious at least of the courtesy of maintaining his distance.
They made the journey in silence, for silence was all the night court had to offer, and between them nothing passed but glances of uncertain calculation. The red stallion may as well have been walking with his blade to her throat, so stiffly obedient she was in her escort. He considered apologizing and didn't. She would not believe him just now.
When they arrived at the rookery - of course it was ravens, he thought - Raymond swept past Isra like a portentous wind and set to scribbling out hurried notes on a couple of spare bits of parchment. The script was cramped and messy with the ire vibrating through his blood, but it was legible and the messages succinct.
The first was long; the second, much shorter - and much more difficult to write.
He approached a well-rested pair of ravens, smiling as he murmured soft pet-talk to them, and fastened a note to the leg of each one. To the first he murmured a quiet destination and the beast ruffled itself importantly before taking wing. Delicately he stroked his muzzle along the feathered crown of the remaining bird and whispered something more. "This is very important to me," he finished, and with a guttural kraaak the final raven took flight, leaving Raymond alone with Isra and the rest of the watchful rookery.
Storm crows.
When he turned back to Isra, the fire in his eyes burned just as brightly, but his expression was quieter, softer.
"I'm sorry for frightening you. My name is Raymond." He nodded curtly in lieu of a proper introduction. "If someone asks if you've seen me, say what you have to say to keep yourself safe."
And with that he swept out of the rookery, a silent storm of blades.
@Isra
aut viam inveniam aut faciam
