[P] God went North.

[Asterion]

Asterion in sunshine and in shadow*   Asterion is waiting when they arrive – the mentor he’d once wished for, the broken body of his sister and queen, and the monster that carries them both. Cirrus had known of them first; hours earlier she’d been idling the thermals near the coast when a great disturbance of birds had come crying from the west, shrieking, singing, warning monster. Asterion, she’d thought down their long bond, something is wrong. I’m going to see. And from his place in the capitol the Regent had fallen still, his ears twisting back, each nerve shivering like a racehorse at the gate. Florentine had vanished not long before, taking with her the letter that Raymond had sent, anger flashing in her eyes. That was worry enough, but there was, too, the warning from the gods - change is coming. Be safe, he bids the bird, and tries the best he can to busy himself while he works. But oh! No tasks could keep the gnawing worry from him, and it was with near relief when he heard the voice of his bonded some time later – though any comfort vanished at the cold bite of her tone. It’s Florentine. She’s hurt – And so Cirrus had filled him in on what she could, no more than a seagull insignificant as a wisp of cloud as she watched the beast bear Flora home. At once Asterion raced for the hospital, thinking how the dread-drop of his stomach, the icy blood in his veins, had become such a familiar feeling. This time, at least, he did not have to run all the way to Denocte. -- Cirrus had reached him first, and rests on a wide wooden rail when the ground begins to tremble much the same as his flesh had. Asterion stands his ground, dark and grim, and inclines his head in a nod to the healers he had prepared. But nothing could ready them for the sight of the monster. Even Asterion, having heard of its appearance, felt his heart pale when it came stomping, ruining through the swamp. Any lemurs who had not scattered at the first shake of the earth fled now, and swamp-birds cried as they took to the air. Still the bay stallion does not move – not until the monster lowers its mighty hand and he must step aside as it lays down the golden body of his sister. His heartbeat threatens to stop entirely when his dark gaze falls on her, a quick list of each terrible wound, but she lives, she lives, and that must be enough for now. “Take her,” he instructs the healers beside him, and so tenderly they do, easing her onto a litter and away, to perform the work that they are known for. Asterion prays they are as good as their reputation. He knows they will need to be. Only Cirrus remains beside him, and her eyes are dark as slick black mussels and her feathers are all fluffed. Asterion spares not a glance for the beast that stands before him, nor for the damage it has caused the swamp; his eyes are only full of red. A heartbeat, two, and an image flashes again through his mind – a letter with ink that gleamed like the dark blood seeping from Florentine’s leg. "What happened?” he says, and his voice carries all the coldness of an arctic sea. @Raymond