I P O M O E A
The man standing before him was one of few words - but his eyes spoke for him. Seir was quiet in a way that was fitting for a scholar of Dawn. But it was not the sleepy, disenchanted way the rest of the Court had seemed since his return.
Seir’s quiet was like the quiet of the trees, the space between birdsongs. And the pale golden glow he carried upon one antler felt like he was bringing the forest into the citadel with him, like the dapples on his back had been wrought from the sun streaming through the leaves. And the miniature sun trapped in his lantern brought light to the entire room.
“That it is,” he murmured in response. He could see the forest from the windows - it was never far, although here in the Court it could often feel far removed - it was there now, waiting for him. He wondered how many unicorns were wandering its twisted paths, and how many of them left a dark trail behind them.
“Let me know if you need anything, you have only to ask.” He lifts his head slightly, turning back to the other stallion.
Tell me child, what ails Delumine? Ipomoea sighs, setting his glass back down on the desk. “I wish there was an easy answer,” he says softly, meeting Seir’s gaze. “To most of Novus, Delumine seems perfectly fine, and the quiet is easy to write off as our studious nature.” At this he laughs, and the sound is soft and choking, a sob disguised by humor. Inside his heart is shaking like a leaf hanging on to the end of its branch, left behind by all the other leaves that have already been blown off.
“But they weren’t always this way. To me this kind of quiet sounds more like death than anything else. Like the joy and excitement that gives us reason for being here has all but vanished.”
He stops abruptly, glancing quickly back at his new Regent. “Some might call me crazy or say I’m imagining it.” But he lifts his chin higher, and there’s a hard edge to his bright cherry eyes.
As if he’s daring the other stallion to agree with him, or begging him to not.
Seir’s quiet was like the quiet of the trees, the space between birdsongs. And the pale golden glow he carried upon one antler felt like he was bringing the forest into the citadel with him, like the dapples on his back had been wrought from the sun streaming through the leaves. And the miniature sun trapped in his lantern brought light to the entire room.
“That it is,” he murmured in response. He could see the forest from the windows - it was never far, although here in the Court it could often feel far removed - it was there now, waiting for him. He wondered how many unicorns were wandering its twisted paths, and how many of them left a dark trail behind them.
“Let me know if you need anything, you have only to ask.” He lifts his head slightly, turning back to the other stallion.
Tell me child, what ails Delumine? Ipomoea sighs, setting his glass back down on the desk. “I wish there was an easy answer,” he says softly, meeting Seir’s gaze. “To most of Novus, Delumine seems perfectly fine, and the quiet is easy to write off as our studious nature.” At this he laughs, and the sound is soft and choking, a sob disguised by humor. Inside his heart is shaking like a leaf hanging on to the end of its branch, left behind by all the other leaves that have already been blown off.
“But they weren’t always this way. To me this kind of quiet sounds more like death than anything else. Like the joy and excitement that gives us reason for being here has all but vanished.”
He stops abruptly, glancing quickly back at his new Regent. “Some might call me crazy or say I’m imagining it.” But he lifts his chin higher, and there’s a hard edge to his bright cherry eyes.
As if he’s daring the other stallion to agree with him, or begging him to not.
