a king walks among us
He closes his eyes to the touch of her not-hands, the invisible touch of her that he yearns to feel forever.
(He does not yet know that the commonness of something is what reduces its value).
He rejoices in the brush of her feathers against his form, her flank against his, her hum. He listens to her, only, he cannot - cannot - cannot speak, not here, with all this noise but it is in the shadow of her wing that he finds solace. El Rey looks into her verdant eyes and finds only good intentions, for perhaps the second time in his life. He has come to trust mares this way.
Her humming is a lifeline as she guides him from the market.
@
”in blood the blade, to its golden hilt, I’ll drown,“
I pledge you now, to death they all are bound,
