you be the wind
i'll be the wildflower
i'll be the wildflower
The information was startling, directly at odds with everything Ipomoea had ever known. He had never met a Davke in person - but the stories, the rumors, their very appearance said enough. They led a wild life, a savage life. The appaloosa had never heard of a Davke who loved flowers, let alone one blessed with the same magic as he.
Had Ramses found him a year ago and revealed his heritage then, perhaps the news would had unsettled him more than it did now. Ipomoea’s face was passive, expressionless. Aside from the way his brow slowly begins to crease as he processes the information, there was no obvious change in his demeanor.
Inside, he was a rage of emotions.
And yet, there was a small voice that whispered in the back of his mind with smug satisfaction: why did you expect anything else?
The realization sunk in slowly, like the sun rising over the mountains. The now-familiar anger was beginning to rear its ugly head within his chest, sharp teeth stretched into a smile. Anger the likes of which he had never imagined himself capable of until the last year - anger that had been steadily rising ever since Raum’s first attack on the Night Court.
Ipomoea swallowed thickly, and choked all that anger back down.
And that voice continued to whisper - it all makes sense now, doesn’t it?
His brow creased further, looking at his brother.
“You can stay.” His words come haltingly. How could he say anything else? How could he turn away a guest without reason, especially one from Solterra, where he had pointed so many away from the deserts to here?
He closes his eyes, giving a quick, sharp jerk of his head. “You can stay as long as you’d like. I would never dream of turning you away.”
He isn’t sure if he’s speaking now as his brother, welcoming Ramses home; or as a king, inviting a guest in. Maybe it’s both, maybe it’s neither - Ipomoea brushes the thought aside, unwilling to dwell on it. He swallows thickly again.
Is that sand he tastes on his tongue? Or is he imagining it?
The wind coming in through the open window is warm, far too warm for winter in Delumine. When he strains his ears he can hear hoofbeats - but not the steady clack of hooves on cobblestones. Ipomoea can hear the rhythmic pounding of bare feet on sand, of scarred horses stretched out beneath a desert sun -
His eyes flutter open.
“If you’ll excuse me-“ he cuts Ramses off, unable to meet his red gaze as he turns away. “I have someplace to be.”
He’s already walking away when he suddenly stops, and turns to look at the chestnut over his shoulder. “I…” the words die on his tongue. I what?
“I’ll see you-“ he swallows again, meeting Ramses’ red eyes. Eyes so similar to his own. “-tomorrow? The gardens, maybe?” He regrets the words as soon as they leave his lips. The gardens, really? He doubts it would be Ramses’ first choice of sightseeing.
But it’s too late to take them back. So he waits.
@ramses
another abrupt exit gosh po what are you doing
Had Ramses found him a year ago and revealed his heritage then, perhaps the news would had unsettled him more than it did now. Ipomoea’s face was passive, expressionless. Aside from the way his brow slowly begins to crease as he processes the information, there was no obvious change in his demeanor.
Inside, he was a rage of emotions.
And yet, there was a small voice that whispered in the back of his mind with smug satisfaction: why did you expect anything else?
The realization sunk in slowly, like the sun rising over the mountains. The now-familiar anger was beginning to rear its ugly head within his chest, sharp teeth stretched into a smile. Anger the likes of which he had never imagined himself capable of until the last year - anger that had been steadily rising ever since Raum’s first attack on the Night Court.
Ipomoea swallowed thickly, and choked all that anger back down.
And that voice continued to whisper - it all makes sense now, doesn’t it?
His brow creased further, looking at his brother.
“You can stay.” His words come haltingly. How could he say anything else? How could he turn away a guest without reason, especially one from Solterra, where he had pointed so many away from the deserts to here?
He closes his eyes, giving a quick, sharp jerk of his head. “You can stay as long as you’d like. I would never dream of turning you away.”
He isn’t sure if he’s speaking now as his brother, welcoming Ramses home; or as a king, inviting a guest in. Maybe it’s both, maybe it’s neither - Ipomoea brushes the thought aside, unwilling to dwell on it. He swallows thickly again.
Is that sand he tastes on his tongue? Or is he imagining it?
The wind coming in through the open window is warm, far too warm for winter in Delumine. When he strains his ears he can hear hoofbeats - but not the steady clack of hooves on cobblestones. Ipomoea can hear the rhythmic pounding of bare feet on sand, of scarred horses stretched out beneath a desert sun -
His eyes flutter open.
“If you’ll excuse me-“ he cuts Ramses off, unable to meet his red gaze as he turns away. “I have someplace to be.”
He’s already walking away when he suddenly stops, and turns to look at the chestnut over his shoulder. “I…” the words die on his tongue. I what?
“I’ll see you-“ he swallows again, meeting Ramses’ red eyes. Eyes so similar to his own. “-tomorrow? The gardens, maybe?” He regrets the words as soon as they leave his lips. The gardens, really? He doubts it would be Ramses’ first choice of sightseeing.
But it’s too late to take them back. So he waits.
@ramses
another abrupt exit gosh po what are you doing
