A S T E R I O N
in sunshine and in shadow*
He forgets the beauty of the day, the simple sunshine of spring. All the birds might as well have fallen asleep, all the insects to silence; there is only the doe and the fawn and the news that trouble has found them, again.
Asterion is learning that sorrow isn’t a thing he can outrun, or outfight, or outlast. It comes again and again, in waves, as certain as the tide. There is only to ride it out, and pick up the pieces when it is gone, and make the best of what days they have in the meantime.
It makes it no less bitter a thing to swallow.
He listens to Rhone with his brow furrowed, his mouth tucked into a frown, his eyes dark and serious. There is no need to conjure shadow-monsters; there are enough villains that such a disappearance is as likely as if the man had simply gone exploring. The king does not interrupt the other man; he only listens, and at last, at Rhone’s request, he nods. This decision, at least, comes easy. “You have it.”
Then he sighs, and looks away. For a moment he thinks of nothing (or tries; worries hound him like waves crowd the beach at high tide, covering everything), and watches as the branches of the tree wave in patterns, sketching shadows on the ground. When he turns back, when he speaks again, his tone is softer and his eyes are already asking a question.
“And when you return, I wonder if you will accept another task. I’ve noticed your humility, your quiet way of helping. There will be trees bearing fruit and shade because of you long after all of us are gone. Rhone, will you be Terrastella’s Champion of Wisdom?” After a pause, the space of a breath, Asterion pressed his muzzle against the other bay’s shoulder with the firmness of a hand, and when he withdraws his gaze is level but weary. “I’m sorry the circumstances aren’t more joyous.”
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