“We’ve been low on luck, lately,” he answers the horned and handsome stranger, but there is still a smile curving across the dark of his lips, thin as a trailing vine.
Lysander has never put much stock in luck, anyway. And he has a feeling that this strange incident falls much more in the realm of fate. It is a story he never intended to be a part of; he wonders, now, whether it is too late to untangle himself.
He watches the gopher eat, watches it fall to a more peaceful slumber. It would be much simpler if this god-delivered creature could speak - alas, simple was so rarely the way of deities. They had to keep the centuries interesting somehow.
The antlered stallion meant to make no further effort to step in, happy to concede decision-making to the dark-eyed gray mare. Like the gopher, there was something about her that did not seem entirely standard, but it is not a mystery Lysander troubles himself over.
But then the pegasus, she who had sung so sweetly, so softly to the creature calls to him. Her words have the ring of command in them, and with a raised brow he approaches. He does not care for the feel of the animal’s energy and the near-invisible ring of gold against his own magic, the strange god-touch against his warm bronze skin. Lysander helps shift the weight once, as the pale mare gathers her feet; he does not look to the other mare at all, save for a heartbeat’s length beneath lowered lashes.
“Godspeed,” he says to them both, only loud enough to hear, and steps back.
Nowhere in his expression does it hint how grateful he is to do so.
you fester in the daytime hours
boy, you never sleep at night
