The dappled mare shifts her weight, sodden tassel slapping wetly at her hindquarters, shooing away a persistent mosquito. The children of Courant had established a perfect breeding ground for them and even now their larvae follow the circle of life, hatching into adults, supping on the blood of the North’s inhabitants. Though they were more than likely much better off than the South’s residents. Word had it that the Isle’s had all but disappeared under Courant’s wrath. A grim smile taints her features, a rare show of negative emotion, at the thought of the Southern queen and general. They had invaded her home, ill-received comments falling from the bat-winged Zacharias’ lips. It was the king and queen’s duty to raise their children in the ways of politics, ensuring that the North had a solid infrastructure of which to pass on to the future generations of Hoof Prince. And yet, the South had looked upon Aurelius and Ankou with pursed lips, speculating as to why the young blood had been allowed to attend such a meeting.
Realizing she is being quite rude, her thoughts return to the present, unseeing eyes futilely attempting to focus on Donegal’s massive form. Warmth floods her mind at his thanks and it is only then she realizes his muzzle is pressed to her neck. A sudden inundation of emotion becomes her, sending a tingle down her spine, warming the flesh at the spot where his own touched hers. She allows herself to wallow in the feeling for a split second, the moment passing just as soon as it had come, his touch disappearing. She feels bereft, strangely lost. But that is foolish. Her skull shakes from left to right almost imperceptibly, trying to clear her mind, to push those traitorous thoughts out of Donegal’s reach. He was a gentleman, she knew that, but had no clue as to the intricacies of psychic abilities. Could he turn it on and off, like the sun falls at night, only to rise again in the morning? Or was he constantly bombarded by the thoughts of those around him?
A soft sound draws her attention back to the sable colt, a welcome respite from having to confront the turmoil of feeling rioting deep within her chest. The little one, smelling of rotting flesh and old blood, was so dear to her. It matters not to her that she is constantly assaulted by his stench. Only that he is healthy and happy. Again, she flinches from the thought, almost scared of what Donegal might think of her motherly affections. Finally, her ice-blue pools turn back to his imposing shadow, a soft smile at her lips. Anything for him, Donegal. Her final words are added almost as an after-thought, her head turned back in Ankou’s direction, the words captured in a faltering whisper. And for you …. Startled, her skull snaps back towards him, ears pricked to their full extent, a worried look clouding her features. She could only hope he would think she was simply being a loyal senate member, rather than decipher the true nature of her feelings.
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