what can i do
when i break into stars
when i break into stars
H
e lingers in the prairie longer than he should, long after the tolling of the midnight bells signal an end to the night. The smell of spices and lavender and bonfire smoke still drift across the ground as smoke, the sound of hoofbeats pounding the grasses flat (pounding his heart flat with them). But the music is fading now - just the lingering strains of a lone lyre playing as a shadow of the tempos that had once reigned over the other festivities - and with it, all of Denocte seems to quiet. A pair of mourning doves descend in the spaces between the booths, walking side-by-side as they look for left over bits of bread and fruits.
It had always amused him how different his court was from Denocte; how those of Delumine would just now be rising to greet the day, even while the night court was at last slipping between their sheets. There was something fascinating about watching the court at this hour: it felt like he was looking in on a private part of their lives, a part often unseen by the rest of Novus. A couple weaving through the festival stalls exchanged a passionate kiss before parting ways; two young stallions supported a third friend between them as they stumbled off to a shared home; a mother stopped to buy a sweet pastry from a merchant’s stall, which she split between two drowsy-looking children. It was another side of the night court, a side he felt oddly privileged to witness, making him feel a certain closeness with the southeastern realm, rather than apart from it.
As the mare herded her children back towards the city, Ipomoea approached the merchant. The pastry window was mostly-empty now, and fewer treats lined the miniature shelves; but still the man smiled at him.
"Most of my wares are gone, sir," he began to apologize, "but anything you see here is fair game."
"Sold out means a successful night." The man smiled wider and bobbed his head. There was something warm in the aged lines on his face, something that had Ipomoea smiling back.
By the time he leaves the stand he has a small wrapped lemon cake and steaming rose tea, and his pockets are several coppers lighter. But with the distant Arma mountains brightening in the distance, and the lake shivering like a mirror nearby, winking at him from afar as he wanders through the stands, and the beginnings of birdsong echoing in the distance - the night court is beginning to feel more like coming home again.
@aghavni "speaks" notes
