Dangereuse has been watching them from the trees, in that passive, contemplative way of his. Sometimes he thinks about what they are saying, imagines that they are talking about things that do not matter; it is much more fun, he feels, to do this, rather than read their minds. Besides, if he were to encompass their thoughts with his conscious, they would know that he was watching them. Part of the stealth is being completely unnoticed, although he can not do that in broad daylight such as this. That was why he hides among the leafy branches, a little bit of darkness swirling around his feet like miniature tornadoes.
The first one, he remembers briefly from his time underneath Voraer in the Rajputs. Spartan, he remembered his name was. Funny, how he only came out of the woodwork when the Valkyries were beginning to get back on their feet… and yet, he supposed that it was only natural. After all, was he not doing the same thing? Dark eyes drifted to the painted stallion, his current King, who flew so easily upon Altus’ winds. He had not seen Taboo in quite some time, although it was probably both of their faults. Scythia was a silent kingdom not just because barely any breathing souls lived here, but also because the King himself drew halting breaths.
When Voraer draws near the two stallions, the silver dun stallion finally decides to also make his own entrance. He closes his eyes, the familiar feeling of teleportation tingling its way through his body. His limbs shimmer in the air, and then suddenly he is at the meeting like the start of a rainfall – a few pieces of him here and there, and then all of him at once. He waits patiently for the black stallion to finish, wondering what he can say that has not been said already. Words have, after all, always been a waste of his time – and yet nobody here can read his mind, so he must speak.
“It is true… there is no room for more than five kingdoms. You say that you would like the Rajputs back, Taboo, and yet you sit on the Scythian throne… are you willing to give that up for the band of men to rise once more?” He blinks at his King, wide-set eyes neutral. He is unbiased by nature, an occasional follower, but his opinion on this matter is that there will be no lamentations for Paduan and Courant’s drowning kingdom if the Rajputs take back their volcano.
He is unsure, however, of the other option.
I remember the faces and familiar places,
and I sing along, but Acadia is gone
