Santiago, reads the marker, but although the Dusk King stands at the foot of the disturbed grave it is not the weathered sandstone he watches. Overhead, Cirrus wheels silently, well above any passing pegasi, keeping an aerial view on Susurro and the nearby sea. It is late afternoon, somewhere between spring and summer, and the grasses and wildflowers, sedges and shrubs, are high enough to tickle the stallion’s belly and shoulders as he begins once more to walk. They are high enough to keep secrets, too.
Asterion has not come to look for Prudence - only to keep an eye on his Court. There are too many strangers and he does not need a horse’s natural inclination for suspicion to be wary of them; he thinks it is a bad time to let unknown glory-seekers into their home, but then, it always is.
And so he watches, and his companion watches, and rather than worry the bay makes his thoughts like the waves: an endless rhythm like breathing, remote and calm but ready to shape to any change, any threat.
open to any for the Prudence search!
@
if you'll be my star*
