08-18-2016, 07:47 AM
Though the trees have been to burn with autumn finery Kreios doesn’t seek out his queen. It is not that he does not want her - never that. She has seem distant these past months and Kreios, raised in a family where emotions were barely a tertiary concern, does not realize that it is equally his responsibilty to reach out and mend the rift between them. She’ll come around in time, he tells himself. He has done his part in protecting the family, in providing easy affection and companionship, in siring and raising their children, in guiding the kingdom they rule together.
What more can he do? What more can she expect from him?
If he has sought out the company of other women as Ygritte distances him, what harm is there in that? She will not wish him to bother her when she’d so clearly be rid of him. So he waits out the storm of her emotion (even if he’s not sure what emotion it might be) and follows the ways of instinct.
The spotted stallion makes his way through the broad path to the meadow, his heavy paws leaving behind prints far too large for any normal feline. The months since the raid have given him time to heal, but only in the last few days has he felt comfortable enough to revert to walking half-shifted, the way he is most familiar.
The autumn afternoon is unusually warm, and he stops to rest beneath the shade of an elm. From his position he can see most of the Meadow spread around him, scattered here and there with lone horses and pairs lost in conversation. There were plenty of horses to speak to at the Falls, but there are time when he needs something else, some mindless chatter that will not end in a discussion on how the Falls is faring.
What more can he do? What more can she expect from him?
If he has sought out the company of other women as Ygritte distances him, what harm is there in that? She will not wish him to bother her when she’d so clearly be rid of him. So he waits out the storm of her emotion (even if he’s not sure what emotion it might be) and follows the ways of instinct.
The spotted stallion makes his way through the broad path to the meadow, his heavy paws leaving behind prints far too large for any normal feline. The months since the raid have given him time to heal, but only in the last few days has he felt comfortable enough to revert to walking half-shifted, the way he is most familiar.
The autumn afternoon is unusually warm, and he stops to rest beneath the shade of an elm. From his position he can see most of the Meadow spread around him, scattered here and there with lone horses and pairs lost in conversation. There were plenty of horses to speak to at the Falls, but there are time when he needs something else, some mindless chatter that will not end in a discussion on how the Falls is faring.