There is some niggling feeling of discomfort in him, like a burr well-caught, as he watches the pale colt through the waving, reaching grass. It takes Charlemagne a long time to realize what it is, and when finally he does he feels ashamed. It is too like his own arrival here, if he were Florentine, and the young stallion were him. The deja vu washes over him like a wave and he shakes his head, his golden horn catching the summer sunlight. The feeling makes him want to slip away, but the liver chestnut cannot. The memory his brief meeting with the Dusk Court girl is enough to send him trotting forward, determined to make friends. He’s remembered the boy’s name - Pan - by the time he approaches, and is glad of the importance his parents had stressed in him to remember names and titles. He is less sure of the next thing the boy says. Charlemagne had a rough idea of the gods of Novus, but his own people had worshipped no gods at all, and he’d yet to speak to anybody here about their beliefs. Even so, he knows it’s Oriens that the Dawn Court claimed as theirs. It makes him curious, and it’s an uncertain smile he’s wearing when finally he reaches Pan. “Well, I’m not Solis,” he answers, as soon as he is near enough to make reply without raising his voice. “And why are you looking for him, anyway? Aren’t you a member of the Dawn Court? I saw you at the meeting.” Immediately he regrets the question - or at least the tone of it - and wishes he’d asked instead if Pan had seen Solis before. But he says nothing more, and only watches the scaled stallion curiously. @Pan yay Pan! |
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