It was impossible to ignore the thunderous gallop in the distance. Not for a single moment did Cerva consider turning a cheek. Her curious eyes gleam with hope as they follow the noise with her ears erected to pull in that sound of promise. A smile wants to tremble across her lips, but it’s premature and crumbles away. Is it an intruder, or the king, or even an older Gates resident? Her stomach clenches and ties into knots, but she urges herself forward to sate her curiosity as it clouds her other thoughts, her other senses.
A biting wind gust nips at her heels as she ascends a small knoll only to stand on its crest and look across the scarlet sunset. An incline of her head gives a newer angle that she further admires of the kingdom’s landscape, but the adoration is short-lived and distracted by a loud bellow into the winter air. It’s a stallion, of that she is sure, but when she registers who he is calling, Cerva flinches. Her eyes blink and her pretty face grimaces. She remembers watching Magnus flee; he hasn’t returned and she has long since released her bated breath that he would. With the weeks having turned to months Cerva has come to the realization of how lonely she truly is now in the kingdom.
It isn’t long until she finds him. His inky silhouette contrasts against the colorful backdrop of the rising sun. Her heart flutters in her chest as her eyes are cast down in preparation. With having been alone Cerva has had to adopt some confidence and authority otherwise the Gate’s safety could be jeopardized. She doesn’t want anyone to know how empty the kingdom actually is.
”Excuse me,” she says after having drawn in his unfamiliar scent, ”but etiquette would have you wait at the border rather than gallivant around when you don’t currently live here.” That much she learned as a child being raised in the Valley; however, she doesn’t entirely fault the stallion. His scent is foreign and transcends much deeper than just the field, or even just Beqanna. When she reaches him, the level of her voice softens as do the lines in her face. ”Magnus is gone,” she says this unhappily as though not willing to accept that truth, ”but is there anything I can help you with?” A slow, cold breath is pulled into her lungs where they tremble against winter’s touch. ”I’m Cerva.”
Cerva