your head is a living forest
full of song birds
If he took offense from the dark mare’s brusque words or demeanor, he did not show it. The music of the fountains seems, to him, louder than any anger lingering in Sloane’s voice. He lets that fill him, instead - a backdrop of music, the sound of shattering glass, the colors of the sunrise transcribed into a symphony. Like the wellspring embodied the heart of the court, ever flowing, like the blood in each of their veins -full of song birds
Ipomoea tilts his head back to regard the gardens from the corner of one eye. The flowers were beginning to unfurl now, as the sun continued to rise. Their delicate petals reaching out like hands for the sunlight, edges limned in gold like a cloak.
She asks him what his intentions are, but Ipomoea is not honestly sure.
What were his intentions?
He had come home to take the crown from his own brother, and while he had not had to fight for it, it would have been a lie to say he had not gone looking for it. The soil of the earth was crying out to him, the land had been weeping in silence for far too long. Ipomoea has only recently learned to listen to it, to not only look, but to also see. He takes a moment to choose his words, letting them turn over and over and over again in his mind.
“I intend to give it a new beginning.”
He looks back to Sloane as he speaks, considering her quietly. “Delumine seems like it’s several paces behind the rest of Novus at the moment - too little happens, or changes, or improves. We’re stagnant, perhaps sleeping, and it’s time we came back awake.”
He tilts his head to her, and while turning away he asks, "And what are your intentions, Sloane?"
Had she come here only for her island, for herself? Even if she had, perhaps there was something more for her here than she yet realized.
OOC | @Sloane <3
