in sunshine and in shadow;
It’s an unusually cool summer day, and the rain patters gently down, beading drops on the wild roses and quieting the world to a murmur. Songbirds still trill from the cover of the trees and the sound of the king’s steps is muffled on the smooth round stones of the path.
Asterion has never cared for summer the way he has the border seasons, but he does love days like this. The capital is sleepy in late afternoon and his gait is easy and untroubled as he turns down a winding street. At the end of it the hill slopes away to prairie and all the way is bordered with rows and rows of flowers, vibrant against the muted sky.
He’s smiling by the time he reaches the door, over which flowers in all shades of purple and pink cascade from an archway, a waterfall of blooms. There is a leather pouch slung against his shoulder and within is a cornucopia of teas and spices from across the courts and over the sea; such things he has never quite gotten used to, but he hopes the recipient will appreciate them. Perhaps next time he will bring her seeds and flowers from across the world; if anyone could make them bloom, it’s her.
The bay stands at the door as the rain falls around him, never quite touching a hair on his body; his magic, he has found, has more useful applications than he’d ever considered. Normally he wouldn’t mind the wet, but it seems rude to drip on a friend’s floor.
“Fiona,” he calls, and gently knocks.
@Fiona <3
Asterion.
