I P O M O E A
His smile is crooked and boyish, a smile that seems to know more than it lets on. “Me too,” he says, and leaves it at that.
But in his mind he can see it, the way the earth might see from the clouds, the way a bird might see the rest of them far below on the ground. He wonders how far the sky goes, and what he might see waiting on the horizon. And in the lack of knowing, his mind builds all sorts of fantasies to amuse himself with.
He thinks he might ask Florentine later about the worlds she’s seen, and how far away they were. But for now he walks and he daydreams and he follows the doe like a hound follows a scent. The dappled light of the forest makes it hard to see her trail, but the smoking palm fronds and the occasional cloven hoof print lead them on all the same. Deeper into the forest, deeper into the mystery - and Ipomoea does not stop to consider that they’re walking into the unknown (foolish as it may be.)
He steals a glance at the king, his eyes dark beneath the forest’s veil. “But do you think she would tell us if we asked?” He hoped she would - where would be the fun otherwise? - and yet there’s a part of him that suspects this was one mystery designed to be only that. A mystery, a tale without an ending, a riddle for them to make up their own solution for. Was a bad answer better or worse than no answer at all?
But before he gets a chance to say more, something shifts in the air around them, something sharp now carried on its undertone. He can feel the wind lifting his mane from his neck, and a shiver raises the hair along his spine. Light is streaming through the trees ahead of them and, quite unconsciously, Ipomoea quickens his step. The forest gives way to a meadow, small and flanked by trees. And he thinks, as he steps into the light, that the shining gem he sees laying upon the grass is one of the gemstones from the doe’s antlers, and a part of him thinks he sees the shadow of her hiding behind the trees at the far end.
”I think she’s close,” he whispers when he comes to a stop. The trees shiver around them, and his eyes search quickly for movement beneath their outstretched arms.
But in his mind he can see it, the way the earth might see from the clouds, the way a bird might see the rest of them far below on the ground. He wonders how far the sky goes, and what he might see waiting on the horizon. And in the lack of knowing, his mind builds all sorts of fantasies to amuse himself with.
He thinks he might ask Florentine later about the worlds she’s seen, and how far away they were. But for now he walks and he daydreams and he follows the doe like a hound follows a scent. The dappled light of the forest makes it hard to see her trail, but the smoking palm fronds and the occasional cloven hoof print lead them on all the same. Deeper into the forest, deeper into the mystery - and Ipomoea does not stop to consider that they’re walking into the unknown (foolish as it may be.)
He steals a glance at the king, his eyes dark beneath the forest’s veil. “But do you think she would tell us if we asked?” He hoped she would - where would be the fun otherwise? - and yet there’s a part of him that suspects this was one mystery designed to be only that. A mystery, a tale without an ending, a riddle for them to make up their own solution for. Was a bad answer better or worse than no answer at all?
But before he gets a chance to say more, something shifts in the air around them, something sharp now carried on its undertone. He can feel the wind lifting his mane from his neck, and a shiver raises the hair along his spine. Light is streaming through the trees ahead of them and, quite unconsciously, Ipomoea quickens his step. The forest gives way to a meadow, small and flanked by trees. And he thinks, as he steps into the light, that the shining gem he sees laying upon the grass is one of the gemstones from the doe’s antlers, and a part of him thinks he sees the shadow of her hiding behind the trees at the far end.
”I think she’s close,” he whispers when he comes to a stop. The trees shiver around them, and his eyes search quickly for movement beneath their outstretched arms.
@asterion I want to be respectful of asterion’s leaving, so figured we can wrap this up here or soon c:
”here am i!“
”here am i!“
