in sunshine and in shadow;
The pomegranate tea is cool and tart against his tongue, a reminder that it is summer still despite the rain outside. Somehow, he gets the sense that Fiona’s cottage is always like this; a little haven away from time, cozy despite the season. The grief of losing her former home must have been unbearable, yet she had not withered. To Asterion that embodied the unique strength of his adopted court - always without complaint, soft but resilient, forever blooming again.
“That must be a hard habit to break.” The bay glances sidelong at her, the hint of a grin at the corner of his mouth. “But I hope you still keep them near. It would be a pity if you drew less. Unlike myself, who would be doing a favor to everyone by never picking up a quill again.”
Any hint of a smile fades when she continues speaking, despite the laugh that follows, soft and round as water falling from the petals outside. He almost interrupts then, and is glad that he waits - for the Champion proves once again why she is so vital to Terrastella.
When she is finished speaking (or whatever it ought to be called - when the lilt of her voice has faded from his mind) he catches her eye. “Fiona. It may have helped you become who you are,” (patient, he does not add, and wise, and kind above all) “but it’s only a part of your story.”
He almost touches her again, then; instead, with almost boyish shyness, he ducks his head back to take another bite of cinnamon roll.
“I hope another part of it includes my tasting more of your baking,” he adds, and polishes off the rest of it with the ravenousness of any young man.
Asterion’s gaze strays to the window. Outside the rain is still sliding down the glass, each drop racing the one before it. Just because he’s curious, just because he can, Asterion reaches down and down into the magic inside him and thinks slow. And the rain answers him, slowing, stopping, a patter on the leaves and then nothing at all.
His smile is faint when he turns back to the mare, struck not for the first time by the softness of her color, like a dusky sky caught with clouds, and thankful for the bright shine of her eyes.
“Thank you for letting me interrupt you, Fiona - it’s always a pleasure. I’m afraid I can’t stay; I promised to meet Flora near Tinea.”
And he had a feeling by the time he got there the sunlight would be breaking through the clouds.
@Fiona <3 <3 <3
Asterion.
