morozko
and all our footprints in the snow.
She takes both his compliment and his playful barb as well as he’d hoped, and Morozko is surprised at the pleasure it gives him. In Hiemsterra, most reactions came slowly as sap in midwinter, whether anger or joy. It was rare that he came across anyone such as she; rarer still that he was in a position to tease and test in the first place. Perhaps he was already suffering from the break in discipline from his soldier’s life.
He’d missed that routine since his arrival in Novus, the order in knowing what your day would entail. But he finds he doesn't miss it quite so much at the moment.
“Then the rose is a particularly good touch,” he answers, but his smile is softer, now, matching her laugh.
He doesn’t move when she nears, though he arches his neck and tips his horn, opening himself for inspection. It feels, strangely, like standing before his commander in the royal guard; still, his eyes follow her with more interest than they ever watched Borya. Only his ears move, tracking her, first one and then the other. The silver earrings glint in the weak sunlight that filters through the moss-hung trees.
“I’m Morozko. And I live in the Dusk Court.” It’s then that his posture loosens and he turns toward her, extending his dark muzzle toward her shoulder and the strong line of a wing. Not close enough to touch, just close enough to catch the scent of her over the humid foliage-and-water smell of the swamp.
“And you…” he might have taken her for a creature of the Night Court, but he remembers well the smell of their sovereign, the woodsmoke and witch-light in his eyes. The scent she carried was harder, brighter, and all that gold - but it was the necklace she wore that made him certain. “Solterra.” Perhaps he should have guessed it before — but then, she might have guessed where he was from, considering the swamp he stood in. “So what brings you this far southwest? You’re a long way from home.” And yet, when it came to home, he was far, far further.
@Inkheart
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