There were so many people to see and look at surrounding him, all of them seeming to be talking at once and vying for Kasil—the Sovereign’s—attention. Normally such a thing wouldn’t have bothered Ipomoea; he thrived in such environments where things and people were constantly changing and moving, a puzzle he fit so neatly into the center of. But as it was, he found himself drowning out the hustle and bustle to zero in on the lord’s figure instead, so much so that Pan’s words almost fell upon deaf ears. Lost in himself, he simply nodded in reply, finding himself at a startling loss for words.
The dark stallion bobbed in and out amongst the crowd, Po taken aback simply by how regal he looked—so much different now that he had a mass to please than when he did when they met alone behind the citadel. But it seemed as natural now as his laid-back demeanor had then, and the boy couldn’t help but admire him all the more for it. Anticipation filled his being as his Sovereign made his way closer, allowing himself to imagine that it was to him that he headed, that amongst these strangers it was Po who stood out. Which of course, only led to a bit of disappointment and jealousy when he was given two words of welcome. Those two words reverberated in his mind, not lost on him that he was at least remembered and recognized—if not as important as he had hoped for moments ago. He dipped his head in greeting, still fumbling for words as the bay stallion moves on. He addresses the rest of the gathering, and Ipomoea finds himself hanging upon every word, drinking it in. And when he finishes he rushes forward, as if to volunteer (for what he isn’t even sure), but he is again beaten.
First by the rose-colored mare, then by his new friend Pan, and then the sea of people seem to fall upon their Sovereign again, their voices scratching at Po’s ears and drowning out his own voice. He is pushed back by them, his still lanky form forgotten upon the more mature horses. But he allows them to go, likewise allowing himself to fade back into the outskirts where he can continue to observe, not yet willing to leave but also not fighting to be heard. He’s sure what they have to say is also important—even if all of their words seem brusque and biting, shocking him by their audacity. It seemed a foreign thought that they wouldn’t fawn at their leader’s feet, but rather demand he do something for them. It’s politics that he’s never seen before, but it intrigues him as much as shocks him.
But he can’t join it yet. Instead he takes the time to gather his thoughts, pulling himself out of his daydreams of glory and crowds falling in admiration and loyalty at his own hooves long enough to figure out what it is he wants from the Sovereign besides his attention.
oh dear Po
The dark stallion bobbed in and out amongst the crowd, Po taken aback simply by how regal he looked—so much different now that he had a mass to please than when he did when they met alone behind the citadel. But it seemed as natural now as his laid-back demeanor had then, and the boy couldn’t help but admire him all the more for it. Anticipation filled his being as his Sovereign made his way closer, allowing himself to imagine that it was to him that he headed, that amongst these strangers it was Po who stood out. Which of course, only led to a bit of disappointment and jealousy when he was given two words of welcome. Those two words reverberated in his mind, not lost on him that he was at least remembered and recognized—if not as important as he had hoped for moments ago. He dipped his head in greeting, still fumbling for words as the bay stallion moves on. He addresses the rest of the gathering, and Ipomoea finds himself hanging upon every word, drinking it in. And when he finishes he rushes forward, as if to volunteer (for what he isn’t even sure), but he is again beaten.
First by the rose-colored mare, then by his new friend Pan, and then the sea of people seem to fall upon their Sovereign again, their voices scratching at Po’s ears and drowning out his own voice. He is pushed back by them, his still lanky form forgotten upon the more mature horses. But he allows them to go, likewise allowing himself to fade back into the outskirts where he can continue to observe, not yet willing to leave but also not fighting to be heard. He’s sure what they have to say is also important—even if all of their words seem brusque and biting, shocking him by their audacity. It seemed a foreign thought that they wouldn’t fawn at their leader’s feet, but rather demand he do something for them. It’s politics that he’s never seen before, but it intrigues him as much as shocks him.
But he can’t join it yet. Instead he takes the time to gather his thoughts, pulling himself out of his daydreams of glory and crowds falling in admiration and loyalty at his own hooves long enough to figure out what it is he wants from the Sovereign besides his attention.
oh dear Po
manip by rhiann
