He can still see the meadow when he closes his eyes. It’s a blaze of color, its image searing itself in his mind until all he can see is the green of the moor-grass and the red of the poppies, and the impossibly blue sky stretching endlessly overhead.
Ipomoea stands there, surrounded by a sea of wildflowers that reach out to him with petals as soft as silk, and he sighs. The wind curls itself through his mane, and it follows its direction easily - his braids are gone, and the wind seems to delight in curling its fingers through the long, dark tresses.
He can see the Court now in the distance, the citadel’s spire rising like a needle to pierce the sky.
The day is already nearly over, but the sight renews the vigor in his step. He had intended to sleep beneath the stars tonight in the meadow, to get some rest before entering the city and taking up his mantle once again, but his plans vanish in the blink of an eye. It had been nice to get away for a day - Ipomoea was beginning to think he might never again be content to sit in the capitol day in, day out - but he was eager to get back. There were too few members in command at the Court, too few sitting on the Counsel and Regime…
He shakes his head, and begins walking forward again. The grasses make a dry rustling sound as he walks amongst them, their stalks brittle and golden now that autumn had settled over the Court.
Ipomoea is acutely aware of the dagger strapped to his foreleg, and he has to force himself to let go of it. It was only a precaution, but its presence alone raised in him an uneasy awareness. From the birds that flit far overhead to the prairie rabbits that bounded across the meadow, each whisper of noise had him turning his head to investigate. He makes himself smile, shrugging the tension out of his shoulders. All safe, he reminds himself, and continues.
And when he sees a silhouette in the distance, framed by the brilliant violets and pinks and oranges of the sunset, he steps towards them eagerly.
let’s be wildflowers
let our souls be scattered by the wind.
let us grow, wild and free,
tall and brave,
in the places that we dream,
and we will make all things beautiful
@open ! notes
”here am i!“
