Deimos
The unicorn was content, pleased with herself, as per the usual, and if she could’ve worn some smirk or snicker, it would’ve been adorned proudly across her features. Instead, she leaned into the scratches, before meandering back off to her rightful place along the hearth, darting a glance at the Sword, but proffering nothing more. For his part, he simply nodded, and they were silent and still again, for a moment or two. Pastry finished, the beast lifted his head at her agreement towards breakfast, then collected the gifts in his lap, placing them back inside the bag – for now – and extending scratching the luxere’s head once more. Rising, rising, rising, secure with the blazing fire and the roar of warmth, he placed the sack and its precious items within softly on the table, before ambling along the counter, gathering supplies. Once he’d settled a pan on the stove and cracked open some eggs, listening to them sizzle when the temperature was right, he shifted a little, turning his head to regard the defiant grin, the curiosity emboldening her further into the threshold.
The last time she’d commented on his shifting ability, newfound and furtive, concealed only due to poor timing, she’d attacked, assaulted, and accused. He didn’t flinch at the notion, but his eyes visibly narrowed for a moment, swiveling back to the stove, pondering how deep and how far he was supposed to clamber on. Not a gifted storyteller or provider of conversation, he was liable to do just as she’d previously charged him for, simply due to his notions of austerity. But this was Kiada, and maybe she’d forgive him for that. So, instead of embarking into realms of ghosts haunting his visions, plucked straight out of his memories by Safrin, instead of starting with being dropped into the sky, like a sinking stone, like a plummeting piece of rock, rubble, and dust, he merely asked, cautious, hoping she’d be exact. “What do you want to know?” How or why or when? How he thought he didn’t deserve it? How he thought he wasn’t worth it? That sometimes he extended his arms into wings, feathers, and plumage, and still regarded it with shock, with surprise, and with awe?
The last time she’d commented on his shifting ability, newfound and furtive, concealed only due to poor timing, she’d attacked, assaulted, and accused. He didn’t flinch at the notion, but his eyes visibly narrowed for a moment, swiveling back to the stove, pondering how deep and how far he was supposed to clamber on. Not a gifted storyteller or provider of conversation, he was liable to do just as she’d previously charged him for, simply due to his notions of austerity. But this was Kiada, and maybe she’d forgive him for that. So, instead of embarking into realms of ghosts haunting his visions, plucked straight out of his memories by Safrin, instead of starting with being dropped into the sky, like a sinking stone, like a plummeting piece of rock, rubble, and dust, he merely asked, cautious, hoping she’d be exact. “What do you want to know?” How or why or when? How he thought he didn’t deserve it? How he thought he wasn’t worth it? That sometimes he extended his arms into wings, feathers, and plumage, and still regarded it with shock, with surprise, and with awe?
i rule the stars, not the other way around
