S O M N U S
"What if I fall?"
"Oh, but my darling, what if you fly?"
Since his recent arrival into the Dawn Court, the halls had been oddly quiet. Perhaps it was due to his own tendency to withdraw himself from the loud and boisterous that he missed the present going-ons, preferring solitude and thoughtful silence, but he had anticipated
some form of livelihood beneath the towering citadels and impressive masonry that made up the Capitol of Delumine. Yet, there seemed to be nothing of the sorts. The halls were silent whenever he passed, the rooms barren of souls and aired out, courtyard void of life and still as the world around them seemed to carry on. It was not anything new to wander and not encounter another soul, especially so late in the evening.
It was that very reason alone that he did not expect to encounter another. A beckoning call, a formal, softly spoken greeting is what he receives in the darkness of the courtyard beneath the pale moon and shimmering stars.
The song upon Somnus' lips dies in his throat as intuitive verdant eyes seek out the speaker who has interrupted the solitude of his venture. The golden tactician stops, rich amber feathers fluttering upon pale flaxen sides as he straightens to his full height, posture erect and collected, ears forward and at attention, piercing gaze raking up the dark one's form and watching as he pulls himself from the shadows, like a wraith wearing a smile. Somnus does not know him. The realization is instant. This shadow is a stranger in his mind, but his eyes, perceptive, visceral, see the stallion for what he is; of a greater height than the tactician's own stature, he is lean with flexible muscle, a smooth, rich bay that nearly appeared black beneath the moon's weak glow. Dark, proud,
strong wings grace his shoulders, collected with an elegance and control of a gentleman.
It is only then that the tactician dips his head, onyx crown lowering in a dipping nod to acknowledge the shadow's arrival
He thinks of Charlemagne, the chestnut gentleman who had been the first, and
only, to greet him to the Court in this very courtyard. He thinks of how, in a rather foolish move, much to his embarrassment, he had
assumed that the horned stallion had been the Dawn Lord. Charlemagne, the blessed, good sir that he was, had only laughed off his inquiry and stated that no, he was mistaken. Oh, did he wonder now, but Somnus had learnt his lesson well, and would rather not have a repeat venture of sticking his own hoof in his mouth.
The shadow's words cause a polite, reserved sort of smile to grace the dunalino's dark lips, eyes crinkling slightly at the good nature of his tone.
"It most certainly appears so," he began politely, the elegant lilt to his accent easy to acknowledge the truth that he was not native to Novus. It was all too easy to fall back into old habits of his days as a chamberlain, his tongue remembering well the art of diplomacy and speaking to delegates, emissaries, and those of far more noble of birth than himself. Never had Somnus been more grateful for the servitude he had paid in Vhallen than he was now.
Silence once more lapsed between them, and the dunalino allowed an insightful verdant gaze to stay rooted upon the rich bay male. His inquiry was an honest one, spoken with nothing but genuine desire to know, and Somnus could not belittle him for that.
"I am Somnus, good sir," he answered politely, evenly, his words direct and to the point, as he was not a creature to waylay information or 'beat around the bush', as it were,
"Sage to the Dawn Court proper. And you are?"
