The moon was waning overhead, the barest of slivers that cast only a feeble light into the night. Darkness reigned supreme; fitting he supposed, a cloak of shadows to hide him as he slipped away from the Court.
His chest feels tight, so tight he almost thinks to turn around, to head back to where life was safe and comfortable, where decisions didn’t hurt so badly to make. There’s still time; if he’s quick about it, if he hurries back and stops for nothing, he could slip into Somnus’ study and toss the letter into the fire. No one needs to know, his mind whispered vile words into his ear, it’s not too late to take it back.
But it was too late. Ipomoea couldn’t - wouldn’t - take it back.
The forest line was just ahead of him - the shadows creating visions of monsters stalking amongst the trees - when the whisper of wings caught his attention. Her screech cut through the night, unsettling in its familiarity, and it was as if a stone had dropped into his stomach, so quickly did it sink. Ipomoea came to a stop, watching as she spiralled down to rest on the ground before him.
“So. You found me.” How far was Somnus behind her? Surely she was telling him even now exactly where to go.
Ipomoea set his jaw, preparing himself for the argument that was surely to come. It’s what I deserve, leaving in the middle of the night.
But there was no cavalry, no thunder of hooves flying across the Illuster meadow to bring him home. Only Alba’s chittering disappointment, and a roll of parchment on her outstretched leg.
His grasp was trembling as he untied the letter, and read.
For a moment, he was silent, disbelieving.
They were not the angry words he had imagined, and the tone was anything but scathing. They were understanding, proud even - had the golden king, always so cautious and slow to stir, come to understand his need to go? He could hardly believe it.
He lifts the ivory feather up to the moonlight, and Odet is quick to snatch it away. The songbird clicks his beak, as if talking to the owl, as he threads it carefully into one of Po’s braids. A wispy smile, half sad, half relieved, is barely visible in the darkness.
“Tell him thank you for me?” He nuzzles the owl once, her feathers soft again his cheek. “Take care of yourself, Alba,” his voice is tender as he smile at his brother’s bonded.
And then, holding the letter tight to his chest, a new feather braided into his mane, he turns back to the night and the forest.
This was the bravest thing he had ever done - so why did he feel so scared?
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 ! <3
”here am i!“
