[P] lady i swear by all flowers

[Sarkan]

Sarkan The moral of the tale is this: whoever allows himself to be whipped, deserves to be whipped.   Now he was near enough to see the shadows of the dew-wet grass through the glass body of the violin, and the scale it ran stirred his blood the way a breeze might stir the dead leaves of an aspen tree. Even he could read the tone of the notes - but was it agitation or eagerness? Which of them made the meaning, the woman or the instrument? I am no oracle, she said, and though he’d known as much - nothing could really read the future - he was still relieved to hear it. This violin would not sing him his sins, then. He looked over at her, the spire of her horn, the crystal of her eyes. It was easy to picture her dancing, singing, arriving and never staying. “I do, though I don’t meet them very often. I’m a bit of a wanderer myself.” Sarkan might have been happy, talking about that; all the places they’d been, the strange and wild things they’d seen. But she doesn’t ask about that. The question she did ask, on the heels of wondering about his purpose, gave him pause. Now his attention left the violin entirely, and his eyes were the cool blue of a glacier’s belly when they met hers. He still wore a smile, but it looked like he’d forgotten it there; certainly it didn’t reach his eyes. There was a whisper of suspicion wending down his back; that music-stirred blood was beginning to warm. “I can’t guess  what makes you think so. Not as many as you, I’m afraid. And none as…artistic.” The wind picked up then, setting all the baubles she wore to chiming, blowing her hair around her like a cloud. He was near enough to see all the details of her coat, every slim muscle beneath the lilac fur. “Maybe I’ll share some of mine if we meet again.” His smile lifted until it showed teeth. And then a meadowlark sang out its morning song, a dozen tremulous notes, and Sarkan shook his head. Taking a step back, the gray stallion looked around, as though he’d briefly forgotten where they stood; then his gaze moved back to the unicorn and there was nothing but warmth in his smile. “Play me a wandering song, would you, Jasmine? Farewell-” And with no more warning than that he stepped past her, continuing on his path, and did not look back. But he listened for a long time, even when the last notes had faded from the air. @Mesnyi