06-19-2018, 07:37 AM
When he summons us I respond without hesitation, leaving behind the protection of my thicket in the hills. The autumn wind has begun to leech away the heat of summer, and I tuck my left wing more tightly to my side. The right wing still droops, and the edges of my golden pinfeathers have grown dusty by the time I reach the heart of the kingdom. Arthas stands atop the hill from which Loess is governed, and for a moment I remember standing there beside him.
The memory causes discomfort, and so I distract myself by looking at the stallion behind him. I do not recognize the striped male, but given my absence and now seclusion that is to be expected.
When Arthas begins to speak I look back at the dappled king, curious what this news he has for us might be. The words are like a like ice, piercing and sharp, settling unmelted in the center of my chest. I follow the stallion's gaze to the pretty roan mare beside me, who stands there for only a moment under his gaze before she slips away. So that was the woman who had warmed his bed his bed in my absence. Or at least one who had failed to bear him a son. I should not feel pleased by that (she is clearly hurt and Arthas unhappy), yet there is a bitter satisfaction in her failure. My Arthas might have taken a lover while I was being fed to the wolves, but she is no longer in favor.
Perhaps he will have need of me after all. For all the shattered bones and puckered scars that have resulted from my time in Sylva, I am not entirely useless. I am still capable of carrying a child, after all, and perhaps a son and heir for Arthas. I try to catch his gaze, but the grey monarch turns quickly back to Wolfbane, and I cannot offer a promise with my eyes. The king seems resigned, already instructing us to seek Wolfbane for kingdom matters.
I take another look at the unfamiliar stallion. Am I to be given to him as well? He is a striking creature, boldly marked with an oddly upright mane and a pair of unbroken wings. Those I gaze at longingly for a moment, before catching myself. I do not have anything to say, I realize. How different from my position in Loess before. From a Queen to a commoner; I suddenly understand I have no rank at all.
The memory causes discomfort, and so I distract myself by looking at the stallion behind him. I do not recognize the striped male, but given my absence and now seclusion that is to be expected.
When Arthas begins to speak I look back at the dappled king, curious what this news he has for us might be. The words are like a like ice, piercing and sharp, settling unmelted in the center of my chest. I follow the stallion's gaze to the pretty roan mare beside me, who stands there for only a moment under his gaze before she slips away. So that was the woman who had warmed his bed his bed in my absence. Or at least one who had failed to bear him a son. I should not feel pleased by that (she is clearly hurt and Arthas unhappy), yet there is a bitter satisfaction in her failure. My Arthas might have taken a lover while I was being fed to the wolves, but she is no longer in favor.
Perhaps he will have need of me after all. For all the shattered bones and puckered scars that have resulted from my time in Sylva, I am not entirely useless. I am still capable of carrying a child, after all, and perhaps a son and heir for Arthas. I try to catch his gaze, but the grey monarch turns quickly back to Wolfbane, and I cannot offer a promise with my eyes. The king seems resigned, already instructing us to seek Wolfbane for kingdom matters.
I take another look at the unfamiliar stallion. Am I to be given to him as well? He is a striking creature, boldly marked with an oddly upright mane and a pair of unbroken wings. Those I gaze at longingly for a moment, before catching myself. I do not have anything to say, I realize. How different from my position in Loess before. From a Queen to a commoner; I suddenly understand I have no rank at all.
