I P O M O E A
It’s the most words Ipomoea has heard the antlered man speak at once - more words than he had expected, if he was being honest with himself - and he smiles because of it. Seir’s words are soft and honest, and although Ipomoea has learned in recent months to question what others say, he can’t help but nod his head along. He wants to believe Seir, and the regent’s gentle demeanor gives him no reason to not.
”I am glad you’ve come then,” he says, meeting the stallion’s verdant gaze. Eyes that are green like the forest; green like Somnus’; green like spring.
In a Court that was filled with forests and meadows, there never was enough green. Especially now, with winter setting in and all the landscape looking grey each morning when he looked outside his window.
Ipomoea breathes a sigh, rubbing his temple against the window sill. “You have far more experience than I,” he said at last, his voice soft. The stallion would outlive them all he believed, his life would surpass the entire court. Another time, when he had a moment to himself, Ipomoea would wonder how many worlds Seir had seen before, how many lives he had lived - and why he had chosen here, and now, and him. But now he can only ponder the chestnuts question, and his heart trembles at the way the words seem to cut through his very soul.
A thousand possibilities have been running through his mind since his return, since Somnus passed on his crown to him. Ipomoea can see the Court so clearly now, as if his time away has sharpened his senses to it.
And the way he sees it is as a flower - nearly ready to bloom, but with the odds stacked against it. It needed more sun, and water, and nourishment, and care, it needed a gardener’s instinct. But with so many things that it needed, how could he know where to start? He was still just a boy, and until recently had lacked any sort of experience or qualification. Ipomoea shakes his head slowly, but the frown that stretches across his features is more contemplative than sour.
“Delumine needs something to rouse it back to action, to liveliness. I had hoped the war our east would have provoked some sort of response - I should be thankful the fighting never reached our borders, but our citizens did not even seem concerned about that possibility. I don’t know how to make them see that, I don’t know how to show them -“ His voice falters. I don’t know how, his heart is beating like a wild thing in his chest again. He swallows thickly, and fixes his new regent with his cherry gaze.
“How do you think we should proceed, Seir?”
Ipomoea is still just a boy, trying so hard to be a king.
”I am glad you’ve come then,” he says, meeting the stallion’s verdant gaze. Eyes that are green like the forest; green like Somnus’; green like spring.
In a Court that was filled with forests and meadows, there never was enough green. Especially now, with winter setting in and all the landscape looking grey each morning when he looked outside his window.
Ipomoea breathes a sigh, rubbing his temple against the window sill. “You have far more experience than I,” he said at last, his voice soft. The stallion would outlive them all he believed, his life would surpass the entire court. Another time, when he had a moment to himself, Ipomoea would wonder how many worlds Seir had seen before, how many lives he had lived - and why he had chosen here, and now, and him. But now he can only ponder the chestnuts question, and his heart trembles at the way the words seem to cut through his very soul.
A thousand possibilities have been running through his mind since his return, since Somnus passed on his crown to him. Ipomoea can see the Court so clearly now, as if his time away has sharpened his senses to it.
And the way he sees it is as a flower - nearly ready to bloom, but with the odds stacked against it. It needed more sun, and water, and nourishment, and care, it needed a gardener’s instinct. But with so many things that it needed, how could he know where to start? He was still just a boy, and until recently had lacked any sort of experience or qualification. Ipomoea shakes his head slowly, but the frown that stretches across his features is more contemplative than sour.
“Delumine needs something to rouse it back to action, to liveliness. I had hoped the war our east would have provoked some sort of response - I should be thankful the fighting never reached our borders, but our citizens did not even seem concerned about that possibility. I don’t know how to make them see that, I don’t know how to show them -“ His voice falters. I don’t know how, his heart is beating like a wild thing in his chest again. He swallows thickly, and fixes his new regent with his cherry gaze.
“How do you think we should proceed, Seir?”
Ipomoea is still just a boy, trying so hard to be a king.
