The way every once in a while,
it catches the light and starts smoking.
The trees around us flickered with glints of gemlike color. Torchlight, reflected off the rainbow arch, and its poor attempt at penetrating the night. It all reminded me of the church-tree, the dream-tree near the Vitreus, where not so long ago my sister and I were born. As foals we spent countless hours playing in the dancing light beneath its stained-glass leaves, and when we pushed ourselves to exhaustion we fell asleep in the rainbow shade to the lullaby of glass chiming in the lakeside breeze.
But the arch was far, far bigger. And it did not have my mother’s touch, which she left, whether or not she realized it, in everything she transformed. The arch was shrine-like in its beauty, but I did not particularly like it. I was no longer impressed by colored glass, no matter how big and grand it was. I’d rather pass through a tunnel of trees, canopies outstretched toward each other like lovers hands. Or, even better, nothing at all. Why was anything more needed than what was already there: the view of Denocte over one shoulder, the rest of Novus over the other. But I often did not understand the things most others did. Society had not yet molded me to its expectations, no doubt in part because at every turn I stubbornly resisted any suggestion of what I should do or say or be.
I had not expected to be interrupted so soon into my interrogation, but the intruder brought a bright smile to my face. “Orestes!” I won’t deny the sight of him stirred butterflies in my stomach. I had often recalled our first meeting with fondness. The sand dollar, the stories. The alluring glow of his golden tattoos had burned that memory into my mind.
I caught the happy-sad man’s response to being called sir, the wrinkle of his nose, and I found it quite endearing. When he said “not if the lady says you aren’t,” it was hard to keep a straight face. I took a step to the side, inviting Orestes into our circle with an exaggerated curtsy. I kept my gaze locked on his hooves, an excess of formality (I noticed they were quite pretty, like the rest of him) “Please, good sir, it would be an honor” I intoned loftily with a heavy Denoctan accent, a fine imitation of the way some nobles tried to speak to my mother, if I say so myself.
Finally I lifted my mischievous gaze to him with a laughing smile, my shoulders relaxing into their usual at-ease slump. “How have you been?” I asked it with the tenderness of an old friend, then immediately felt a flush of embarrassment tickle my cheeks. Surely it was inappropriate for me to feel as fond of him as I did after just one conversation. But I let the question sit there, with all my vulnerabilities behind it. I was not one to take things back once spoken.
I had not forgotten the bay stallion, not by a long shot, although the luminous Orestes quite captivated my attention. The stranger spoke with the quiet ease of someone who had seen many things, thought many more. Just the sound of his voice put me at ease, and the words brought a smile to my face. I was thinking of father.
“My name is Asterion.”
“Asterion?” I glanced to Orestes, unsure if he was familiar with the former Terrastellan king who went missing. “But that’s… you’re…” dead was the widely circulated rumor, although no bodies had been found. It happened before I was born but I knew the story well. It was a very short one: one day my godfather, and a few others, disappeared. They were never seen again.
My parents were certain he was not dead, although until that moment I had my doubts. I looked at him a little more closely now, sizing him up as I racked my memory for stories I’ve heard of him. “You left.”
The way it will cleave and grow
like antlers.
A S P A R A
@Asterion @Orestes <3
