yesterday i was clever
i wanted to change the world
i wanted to change the world
H
is hoofbeats sound hollow as he walks down the corridor of the citadel, sunlight streaming through the open windows and a breeze lifting his mane playfully. His mane was loose now, free from the tight braids he had often worn in the past. It tumbles free in dark waves past his shoulders, strung with beads and seashells and flower petals. A small, tawny feather stands out brightly, like the first star in a night sky. It flutters there, just at the end of a braid, soft and downy and ribbed with dark bars.
It was quiet here, but not in an unwelcome way. Ipomoea had grown accustomed to the noise and crowds of Denocte, with their bonfires and incense and moonlit dances. Even in war, the Night Court’s spirit was unbreakable, their love for life apparent in all they did. It had been easy to lose himself there, for a while becoming one of them.
He wasn’t sure now as he walked amongst an empty hallway if the quiet of Delumine made him feel at peace. It used to, he knew. The Dawn Court had always been his safe place, a kingdom separated by the rest of the world not by borders, but by their mindset. They were a studious people, as was he; as he walked those familiar paths into the capitol it seemed to him like the land was putting him back together. Denocte had taken him apart and stretched him bare, made him vulnerable. vulnerable. It had broken him, rendered him to pieces - he had had to harden each one, anchoring them lest they scatter and he lost himself completely.
Now he found his healing in Delumine, in his home. But there was still a piece of him that ached for the clamor and babble of a lively world, that mourned at the way his city seemed to slumber despite the fires raging just outside its forests. It was why he came home now, before the war had ended.
“Somnus?”
Once he might have trembled, and buried his thoughts and fears somewhere deep inside where the light could not reach. Not long ago there may have been a quiver in his voice, a flutter in his heart that made it hard to breathe.
But today Ipomoea is steady, and despite the heaviness that hands like a cloud over his head he lifts his head higher, higher, hoping to see the light breaking through, the silver lining on its edge. He does not forget the fires that burned through the night, or the ribs he saw sticking out from a young child’s torso. He had counted each one, burning it into his memory. And now, he takes that memory home with him. He had looked into the eyes of a murderer, and he would not forget.
“I’ve come home, brother,” his voice is a breath of life coursing ahead of him, as warm as sunlight and as sweet as honey. A flower blooms on the windowsill that he stops besides, and through that window a red streak comes flying. The cardinal lands, as light as a feather, and one wing caresses the flower’s petals as he tucks them in neatly to his sides.
A smile blossoms across his face much like the flower, as he regards the creature warmly - and yet a twinge pulls painfully at his heart. He shifts from one hoof to the other, conscious of the weight of the stone statue he carries with him. Odet.
He turns his gaze in time to see the golden dunalino, with his dark horn and impressive wings, enter view. And despite the cloud hanging still over his thoughts, dark and heavy with rain, still he smiles and steps forward, longing to embrace his friend.
…We need to talk.
@Somnus "speaks" let the reunion commence
