but you’d never get hit without earning it
and i only hit you first ‘cuz i deserved my own hit too
still it comes the time to call you out
since i’m the one that you should be about

There is a vague memory of the woman that flies into Pangea. One that itches mildly at the back of his mind and then turns into an unbearable bug bite. He watches her quietly, testing out the lengths of magic by stretching incredibly small wisps of shadow in her direction. They are imperceptible, nearly nonexistent, but he can still feel her hocks beneath their grip.

The Archon has coated himself in blackness once again, shielding himself from any prying eyes. Nimue may have eyes such as those, considering the quiet passion the two shared. It is hard to remember all of the faces he has pressed his own to when he uses such intoxication to pass the time; still, she is familiar in face and in body, and the cremello has an inkling of why she has come to visit.

Crickets chirp loud enough to cover the sound of Litotes’ labored sigh. He casts his cloak to the side and approaches his acquaintance, quickly bringing Felicitey’s mischievous little face to the forefront of his mind.

“Nimue,” Lie murmurs once within a few feet of his daughter’s mother. “What brings you to Pangea?” Their daughter, of course, but he will allow her to speak her piece.

but you’d never get hit without earning it
and i only hit you first ‘cuz i deserved my own hit too
still it comes the time to call you out
since i’m the one that you should be about

 The breeze is cool when it ruffles the Archon’s mane, tendrils of wispy white that briefly block his neutral gaze. He considers Nimue Isolde, golden eyes solid as they trail past her neck onto her wings, then her barrel, then her hindquarters, down to her hooves. She is beautiful but not in the way that his Kensa is, and he is reminded of his wife as he peers at the pegasus’ curves.

When she speaks, he is quiet, expecting much more than she offered. The cremello does not wish to argue, but he figures that his daughter’s mother may have her reasons. It is not as if he has seen her around, or really known that she has been looking for him. Felicitey could have turned out just as a few of his other children, held by their mothers that speak not their presence to him.

He cannot help that which he does not know.

“Have I ever been an easy man to find?” he questions, brow cocked as he jokingly swathes himself in shadow. Perhaps he once was, when he was young and foolish and full of hope. The darkness wavers when a brief glimpse of the boy he once was passes behind his eyes. They slip to the ground, writhing at his hooves like the memories that want so desperately to be released.

“Felicitey, yes -” he pauses, chews on his words for a moment, “- she wandered into Pangea a little bit ago. A rambunctious one, she is. Unruly enough to evade her mother’s grasp.” He smiles now, a sweetness that softens his sour words.