oh, you saint
i could never love you
i could never love you
T
hey talk of strategy, of organization and planning, and Toulouse could almost laugh aloud at it. With every passing moment, the prospect of their mission grew closer and closer until it was so real he could reach out and grab it. Four days. Four days until the new moon, four days until the night grows dark and only their fires light up the city of Denocte. He could see it already in his mind, roaring flames eating hungrily at the food the Night Court would rely on for the winter. And he can see himself there in the center of it all, his coat turned brilliantly gold in the flickering flamelight.
Four days to prepare, but everything was ready now. Toulouse was ready now.
Patience was a virtue though, and he could pretend he knew it well enough.
His eyes drift to the lone mare among them, sensing her restlessness. It roils beneath her skin nearly visible, and his lips twitch into a smile. I have a secret, too, he thinks, but he doesn’t say so aloud. The ring glints in the darkness, as if begging him to twist it, to activate it, to render his frame invisible. But I don’t give away my secrets so readily.
He bobs his head once, giving them all one last look over. They would do; they had to.
“The lake is far enough from the city I think, we can reconnect on its shores?” he adds his suggestion to the end of Abel’s. As long as none of them were followed that far, they shouldn’t be followed back to Solterra, either.
@abel @Targwyn @rufio | "speaks"
