He would find the note on his desk: a slip of parchment with crisp edges, folded neatly and prettily. There is no wax to seal it, no emblem nor crest, no recipient nor sender signed.
Only a single blue feather, barred with black, placed delicately on top.
He knows Somnus will recognize it the same way he knew the golden king wouldn’t be away from his study for long. It was his usual scene, after all, with a cup of coffee steaming on the table and a dozen scattered books and scrolls surrounding him. Ipomoea did not know what task had pulled the king away from his chambers, yet he was thankful for it; it was far easier to leave a letter explaining his absence, even if it was not necessarily the bravest.
But he does it anyway.
And when he has, he slips out of the room, out of the castle, out past the gates. His heart was beating heavily in his chest, leaping into his throat, threatening to choke him. Tears sting the corners of his eyes, but he bites them back. They were no use to him now; there would be time to cry later, there would be time for guilt and remorse and forgiveness. Now was not that time.
He only hesitates at the border. Although it was not marked, he knew exactly where Delumine began and ended. It was as much by instinct as it was by love; love for his Court and all it represented. There had been many times the spotted boy had smiled in solace when he’d arrived back at the border.
But this time, Ipomoea was not returning to the Court. He was leaving it.
All it took was one hoof after the other, step after step after step. He draws himself up, setting his shoulders straight and steeling himself. One day, he promises, I will return to you.
And then he is gone, disappearing into a night that felt blacker and heavier than his heart.
Dear Somnus,
I did not want to leave a note, but I have no time for anything more proper. I want you to know that I’m sorry for that. I need to do what I think is best, and this is the only way.
I’ve left for Denocte, by the time you read this I should be well on my way. I know now is not the best time, not with the borders closed and an unknown beast in our forest; but if not know, then when? The rest of the world is bleeding, brother, and I cannot sit idly by and watch it any longer. I’ve made that mistake before; I will not make it again.
Moira tells me of monsters that hunt in the night, of fireflies that feed on flesh, of women who lure men to their deaths, of countless other beasts and nightmares. But they are only that: fables. The nightmare to the east is real; our friends need us, and we cannot help from behind our walls. Denocte has shown me kindness time and time again, and now it is my turn to repay them.
I do not know when I will return, but I promise you this: I will return to Delumine once all this is over.
Stay on the lookout. I love you.
Ipomoea.
P.S.
I’ve left you the fables Moira sent me; although our own beast has been quiet, I hope these will help to uncover its identity. If I find any more clues in Denocte’s libraries, I will pass them on to you.
having no one,
forced by my nature to
keep wandering
because wandering
was the only thing
that i believed in
and the only thing that believed in me
@Somnus ! ”here am i!“
