The Court had changed since he’d last been to Denocte;
As they walk, the memories come trickling back in like the water melting from an icicle, each drip signaled a remembrance, the cobblestoned street with all its turns and nooks and wonders impressing the past back upon his mind. ’I bought perfume from a merchant’s stall down that street,’ his mind whispers to him, ’and spices down there.’ He had met a woman out in the prairie surrounding the capitol - or perhaps reunited was a better word for it, for he had met Grainne as a child.
He had walked the courtyard with Reichenbach, was shown the wonders of the moon symbol and carvings by their previous Emissary. He had walked with Messalina to vitreus lake where they had admired the flowers like they had admired the paintings in the castle, had shared secrets like pleasantries (not that Po had many secrets to keep, but he had bared his few all the same.) Ipomoea breathes in deeply the smell of rain and flowers and nostalgia, and when he looks to the sky he swears he can see faces and stories painted in the clouds. The wind changes them at will, every sigh shaping the features into someone new, another reminder of times already past.
A smile, small and wistful, brightens his features.
It’s comfortable, walking beside the bay mare. Even without talking, they lapse into an easy silence broken only by the sound of their hoofbeats and the noisy court life around them. Usually so talkative and animated, Ipomoea is content to be an observer.
”What brings you here?” Her shoulder bumps against his, and one cerise shines at her from the side.
He takes a second to savor his response, letting the words run like lazy water through his mind before he speaks them. At first, only the sound of his hooves ringing against the gem-encrusted streets answers her question.
“It’s been a long time since I last visited Denocte.” ’Before the gates closed,’ he might have said, but he doesn’t. ’Before the gods, before the fires started or the thunderbirds came,’ he thinks, but this too he keeps unspoken. “I thought it was past time I came back.” He makes it sound like he’s coming home - for Denocte had a way of making a wanderlust orphan feel welcomed.
“Besides, I wanted to meet the new queen everyone has been talking about.” He didn’t know - couldn’t know. Isra’s name was one he had not heard until recently, and her face was still one unfamiliar.
Or so he thought. Life always had been full of surprises, ones he was determined to welcome in his stride.
hearts are breaking
wars are raging on
you’ve got me nervous
i’m right at the end of my rope
hey, man, we can’t all be like you
i wish we were all rose-colored too
my rose-colored boy
@isra ! better late than never!
”here am i!“
