Llewelyn didn’t often spend her mornings without tea and golden paint in her company, but something about the way the horizon had lightened from black to grey that morn had inspired her.
It was the first time that she had stepped beyond the protective embrace of Delumine’s walls, and instead of the paralyzing fear that she was anticipating, the maiden felt a sense of exhilaration. The world, which had before seemed so small, confined as it was to the capitol and Veneror’s Peak, was now something that Llewelyn couldn’t help but view with a renewed curiosity. The onyx splashed femme has found herself wandering into the Viride, admiring how, as she traveled deeper into the forest, winter left a smaller and smaller mark until it was as if spring lived eternally beneath the trees.
The maiden lay down upon her side, slowly reclining backward until the side of her face rested upon a soft bed of mosses. For what felt like years, but may have been only hours, Llewelyn lay there, her breaths deepening until she fell into an almost trancelike state. Absentmindedly, she pulled up the trampled grasses and fallen leaves strewn about her body and tossed them into the air, the invisible quality of her innate telekinesis giving the impression that it was the wind that flung the foliage about.
Soon, both Llewelyn and her emerald cloak — the velvety fabric of which had been half-trapped beneath her body and half spread behind — were dotted and piled with forest matter, thoroughly mottling her silhouette. Distantly, the scholar considered the risk of someone coming along and stepping on her prone form, what with her scent most likely being muffled and her body almost hidden by various twigs and forest-leavings. Yet, the thought remained distant and the courtier found that she appreciated the sensation of anonymity and lack of identity that she found ensconced in the wilderness and laying upon it’s breast.
She had even thought she may fall asleep there, cradled as she was against the beating heart of the earth, and golden eyes had began to drift slowly toward close when she heart the hoof falls.
Blinking into awareness, the mare didn’t move, and hardly breathed; some deeper instinct guiding her actions. Through the distance and latticework tangle of undergrowth, Llewelyn spied the wing-legged form of Ipomoea. A grin sprang to her lips and she inhaled a breath to call out a greeting when the wind shifted and the spicy-sweet scent of another mare whipped through the wood. Smile slipping from her lips, the scholar felt her brow furrows and golden eyes narrow as a horned form slipped into view between thin limbs.
Thana.
The name came to the maiden in a rush of recognition — she had heard the servants talking about the unicorn who could kill with a touch. But why was she here, alone, and following Llewelyn’s sovereign? For a moment, fear blanched the lass’ face; what if Thana was going to assassinate Ipomoea? What if she was the Poacher? Ears tilted and lay flat against the femme’s delicately shaped skull, righteous anger bubbling up from her belly and into her chest until...
Until.
Llewelyn swallowed, surprise lightening her golden eyes into an almost shimmering glow.
At the first kiss, the second — the scholar stifled her gasp — pressed against the sovereign’s shoulder.
At the leonine tail wrapping about the stallion’s ankle, anchoring him to the moment.
At the unmistakable intimacy.
This was something Llewelyn was not supposed to see, an interaction so secretive that the forest sounded almost louder in it’s presence; as if the land itself was trying to cover up for the patriarch’s transgressions. The maiden’s mind raced. How was she to leave here without being discovered? The wind was bound to change, the huntress bound to find her there, prone and guilty of accidental eavesdropping. What would happen then? She had thought she had Ipomoea’s measure, thought she knew him to be honest and virtuous, thought his love for Messalina to be honorable and true.
She shivered and climbed to her hooves, taking care to silently remove the leaves from her hair. When the courtier was satisfied that she looked like her usual, manicured self, she began to move. Each hoof fall was casual, the tilt of her head imperious and so, so very like herself. Indeed, Llewelyn felt as if she filled her own skin with an ease that she had lacked in recent weeks. Her steps, while not crashing, would be easily marked by a hunter’s ears and she moved markedly toward the pair. The Appaloosa’s path would hopefully keep her enough out of sight to make a convincing bid for a simple passerby, and the haughtily disinterested expression plastered over her multicolored features should drive home the impression.
Llewelyn silently thanked the elements as she made her exit, for she remained down wind and — she prayed — unidentified.
Forcing herself to continue her leisurely pace even as she moved beyond any reasonable distance of hearing or perception, Llewelyn tried to swallow and found that her mouth was dry. Even as the edge of the forest loomed before her, snow littering the earth between boughs, she maintained her role. Hooves at last crunched into snow and the tree cover slipped away almost reluctantly, and Llewelyn still did not give any indication of what she had seen.
The stroll back home was going to be hellish.
@Ipomoea and @Thana ..hope this is alright! Thanks for letting me join in :)
