Altissima reaches for him and removes any divide or doubt between them. Ours, she tells him. The soft murmur of her voice reverberates through him, echoing the word over and over again, until Tarian repeats it smoothly back to her. "Ours," he says, still lingering between the shock and marvel of it all. His dark muzzle gingerly traces the top of her spine, glancing down at the still slender sides of the female beside him beneath her blue-sheened wings.
The moment they disappear, his silver one drapes over her and pulls her gently beside him. (Though there is a moment where he glances up, his blue eyes seeking hers out - not wanting to be too rough with her or their unborn child.) Altissima - even when she had been sick during the Eclipse - has never been a fragile thing to him; but he knows nothing of childbearing.
She's done this once before though, reminding him of her daughter, and if she does not object, then he will not worry (or try not to).
She tugs lightly on his white mane, and Tarian glances away from her barrel. He has no way to know anything about her condition, but his mind is suddenly full of questions. Did she know if it was a colt or a filly? Would they be winged like their parents, or would they be land-dwellers at Tarian's parents had been? Would they be as black as his grandfather Abaddonn, or would they inherit that lovely blue sheen of their mother?
And what would they call this child, besides the word (ours) that still rings in Tarian's mind?
"No?" the gray pegasus counters to Wildling, and though his voice is still quieter than his usual authoritative rumble and his touch somewhat still cautious against Altissima, the winged stallion teases her in a way that feels familiar for them. "I think Tarian the Second has a nice ring to it," he continues, attempting the courtier's lilt he had been taught during his days in Paraiso. He can't help but laugh quietly, the joy within in him having nowhere else to go but out. "Or how do you feel about Altissima Junior?"
TARIAN
@Altissima