in sunshine and in shadow;
He isn’t sure what catches him first; the scent of cinnamon rolls, fresh out of the oven, better than any smell he might have imagined as a boy - or Fiona’s voice, saying his name.
For a moment he is too surprised to enter. It must have looked comical, the way his dark eyes widened, the surprise on his face that quickly shifted to happiness. And then he’s grinning, ducking his head to her, stepping inside the warmth of her home.
“Fiona,” he says, out loud, but his eyes speak more: How? they ask, and I am so happy for you. It might have been stranger, but the oddity of it doesn’t cross the king’s mind, now when Eik has communicated with him much the same way. Anyway, he’s a man who has always lived half in his thoughts; to have a friend join him is not so peculiar as it might have been for some.
He searches for something to add, then, but by this time he is grinning like a fool and most sensible things have run out of his head. Soon, he hopes, he will hear the story of it - but for now it is enough to hear her voice. When it comes again, he flicks an ear toward her, though there is no sound but the rain and their breathing and she has not moved her lips; habits were hard to break for them all. His expression turns more boyish then, and he shakes his head with a laugh before stepping toward the kitchen. “Have I told you before how wonderful you are?” he asks, and touches his muzzle to her shoulder as he passes.
It is a different kind of wonder he wears as he regards the plate of rolls, their warmth and scent both filling the kitchen. Normally he still clings to the foods of his upbringing - wild alfalfa, and bluegrass, and all things that grew wild and untouched. But there are a few things of Novus that he would mourn deeply if he lost them, and here was one.
But the king restrains himself, if even just for a minute. He turns back to the paint, noting how similarly she was colored to the flowers outside in the soft summer day, and passes over the bag of teas and spices. “I brought some things for you,” he says, and his grin quiets to a smile as the rain patterns the window and taps on the roof. “And I think perhaps you have a story for me?” And his eyes are gleaming as though pricked with stars.
@Fiona can I have her as a real-life friend
Asterion.
