Her bow reminds him what it is easy to forget - that he is still a king, here in a world that feels alien and far from the Terrastellan court, and still has a people under his care. It is too easy to forget, to revert back to the boy he had been before Novus, where all the world was excitement and danger and nobody ruled but magic and gods. He must remember that choices he makes here may have repercussions beyond himself.
He smiles at her introduction, glad for her ease and her company, and winks swiftly at the crow. “Corrdelia Maude,” he repeats, and dips his head before his gaze lifts back to hers. “The pleasure is mine. And extends to Hasta, too - this is Cirrus. It sounds like she is a similar kind of bird.” The gull makes her own rough-throated sound at that, but extends her wings in a kind of greeting, anyway - only to flap them in a fight to keep her balance when the sand shifts beneath their hooves.
Asterion, too, jumps back, hooves still seeming to reverberate from the movement of thousands of grains of shell and stone. It is difficult to watch the dragon being formed, like watching the universe take shape - too quick, too strange, each movement too fluid. His heartbeat is racing by the time the dragon stands before them, weeping saltwater, eerie eyes spinning.
But the king’s alarm does not yet become fear. Like his companion, he stands his ground, and feels more concern for the creature than for themselves - a reaction he hopes later is not a mistake. The dragon is small, and cute, and seemingly tries to communicate; Asterion can feel Cirrus leaning forward on his withers, as intent as he. He feels as disappointed as it looks when it fails to speak; his eyes do not leave it even after it is nearly vanished amid the trees.
“I think so,” he says slowly, and at last meets the mare’s gaze again. He reads no fear in her eyes - what he sees instead reinforces his own curiosity. “I’m always up for adventure,” he adds, and quiets the lingering brush of unease within him. Like Hasta, Cirrus is none too sure about the entire venture; the gull did not care at all for a bit of shoreline leaping up and running off, and the implications it left. She lets Asterion know as much with a nip of her beak at a dark lock of hair near his ear, but doesn’t yet abandon her perch on his back.
The bay sets his pace to his new companion’s, one ear turned to her as the rest of his senses focus on the forest. It’s cooler at once beneath the trees, the shadows of their deep leaves dappling their backs; there is a fleeting glimpse of the false dragon’s tail, and Asterion wonders how they will ever track it in the undergrowth. If it wants us to follow it, it will make sure we can, Cirrus says, low-voiced in his mind, and the king huffs a breath in reply.
For a moment he flicks his gaze to Corrdelia, noting the necklace she wears (one that reminds him of the Ilati), and the keen eye of the crow on her back. “Have you seen anything like this before? I know a few others from a world thick with this kind of magic. But I’ve never seen anything like it myself.”
@Corrdelia
if you'll be my star*
