He rarely stopped to give his wings very much thought. They had been a part of him for as long as he could remember, fluttering gently at his ankles as if they had a mind of their own and believed in their own ability to fly. Of course, it would be impossible for such fragile appendages to actually take flight, only serving to give his forelegs minimal buoyancy—but Ipomoea wouldn’t try to stop their dreaming.
Even so, the darkened stranger’s question still gave him pause, a tinge of sadness coloring his tone. “No…” he said slowly, turning his head away to inspect the vines now with feigned interest. “They’re too small for that.”
’Unlike your’s.’ The thought had crossed his mind unchecked, surprising him. Ipomoea was not usually one to feel jealously, but the sight of the stallion’s broad wings attached so firmly at his withers had instilled the foreign feeling in his breast. It was uncomfortable, clawing at his ribcage to reach a cold hand around his heart, squeezing painfully slowly. Po closed his eyes briefly against the feeling, shaking his head as if to clear it and focus on happier thoughts again. “It’s okay,” he said without hesitation; it hadn’t occurred to him that there was a need for the newcomer to apologize. But his laugh was light and seemingly infectious, for Po turned his attention back to his new companion with a smile. “It’s nice to meet you, Kasil. I’m Po, short for Ipomoea.”
Most of Kasil’s next phrase was lost on him—it wouldn’t make since for a scholar to be delegating others, but perhaps he was in charge of a library of some sorts? An exchange program with the other Courts? Ipomoea would have asked, but when the chocolate haired man directed his next words to the plants growing upon the words, a new pang of disappointment was felt. “Oh, that’s unfortunate,” his frown mirroring Kasil’s own. He wouldn’t want to see such wild things tamed; they were beautiful in his eyes, if rugged. Maybe he would task himself someday with caring for them, if what Kasil said was true.
“You said you were a scholar?” he asked, turning back to face his new conversationist in an attempt to fill the empty space that had suddenly grown between them, Kasil’s pause heavy on the air. “What do you study? Is it the vines and how they grow?” Of course if he did, he surely would be more concerned with their demise than he seemed to be, but no matter. Asking a wrong question would only lead him closer to the right one, anyway, a guessing game which he was unlikely to give up at.
However, the right answer certainly came unexpectedly.
Ipomoea had heard that new sovereigns had been appointed, but he had yet to actually meet one of them. Nor had he ever expected to; he’d always envisioned them as lavish lords and ladies, surrounded by countless members of their courts and certainly just as many guards—not traveling alone behind their great infrastructure. But that wasn’t to say he doubted Kasil, for something about the way he spoke and the way he stood seemed to reinforce the words he claimed, as though a puzzle were clicking into place inside of the speckled boy’s mind.
“You’re… the Sovereign? My Sovereign?” Of course, he could have come up with something a little more eloquent; but he found himself at a loss for words in front of royalty.
@Kasil
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