There was sunlight, streaming in through the open windows, a hint of summer still carried teasingly on the wind. Ipomoea could hear bird song drifting in from outside, a hundred gentle melodies that sung sweetly in his ear, calling him to enjoy the bit of warm air lingering outside.
But when he stepped to the window, the wind turned cold, and biting: it nipped at his cheeks, a small sting that seemed the barest of hints of what was to come.
He turned away, striding forward to join the rest of the Regime.
Sloane. He had seen her around, had talked to her on a few occasions - he still remembered the way she had stood so precariously upon the edge of a cliff, taunting fate. He had sensed some great turmoil hiding beneath the surface, but danger?
Nonetheless, Somnus’ and Ulric’s accounts did not surprise him. There was an unpredictable air about the black mare, as if she was capable of anything, as if she could change her mind in a moment.
But without proof, what could they do? What should they do, especially if she were determined to be innocent?
He was about to add his voice to Pavetta’s, when her tone shifts, and she pauses. Ipomoea turns his cerise eyes to her own, and something he sees in them reminds him of the cold wind of fall drifting through the window.
”I have decided to step down from my position as Emissary. I know the timing isn’t ideal…” For a moment, he isn’t sure he’s heard her correctly:
“Pavetta?” his voice sounds too-quiet in his own ears, almost a whisper. A thousand questions are racing through his mind, but he utters none of them. ’Not now,’ he wants to say, ’we need you here,’ and ’no one seems more capable than you.’ He hadn’t gotten to know the striped mare nearly as much as he wanted to, he hadn’t had the time-
“Are you sure about this?” he asks instead, and his voice is stronger now, sad though it is.
Because even though he wasn’t particularly close to Pavetta, he did know one thing about her - once her mind was made up, there was little changing it.
All the talk of Sloane is forgotten now, and Ipomoea takes a couple of small, hesitant steps forward. His throat feels suddenly tight, and he settles for nuzzling her shoulder reassuringly for a moment.
”It’s been a pleasure serving alongside you. Please, don’t be a stranger,” he says at last.
hearts are breaking
wars are raging on
you’ve got me nervous
i’m 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
@Somnus @
”here am i!“
