Çiçek is having the time of her life. To her delight, Iscariot indulges in her games, even as his icy blue eyes scuttle quickly away from hers. She remains her composure over Rivaini’s wiggling form, smiling serenely up at him and waiting for his answer as if nothing else was happening. The mare’s plea tugs the corners of her lips higher, and she snickers but does not let go. A soft gasp leaves her as his brilliant carnelian adornments flash in the light, glimmering stark against the blue of the sky and the pale gold of his mane. “Güzel,””Beautiful,” she whispers under her breath. Çiçek peers sidelong at her guardian when her brother further guilts her, joyful again to hear another angle of the selfsame story she’d heard when first she’d washed ashore. At Rivaini’s pitiful stare, she snorts with laughter, moving quickly to mirror it straight back. Hadn’t she won, after all? For as many times as the strong girl had woven little treasures into her own tresses, she’d not once gotten to return the favor. This was perhaps the only chance she had to make a case for it.

She waits, the seconds passing by like hours. Çiçek refuses to bend, boosted by the perlino’s cajoling, and she can almost feel the shift in the bay’s posture as she relents, her own grip on her loosening. It’s Çiçek’s turn to jostle around, though this is borne of true excitement rather than unease. “Zafer!””Victory!” she whoops, lifting her head from its place upon Rivaini’s withers. “I *knew* you would see reason,” she half-purrs, flashing a conspiratorial glance at Iscariot. “And besides, I think when Fae sees our matching garnishes, she’ll want to be part of our special club of tortured individuals. Misery loves company, or whatever they say.”

She trails off, distracted, her eyes sweeping the line where the jungle meets the sand and shifting white turns to dark emerald green. So many migratory birds had come to Atlantis that finding colorful feathers was no issue for her, and her eyes landed on the shifting verdant mass of a flock of yellow-naped green parrots a few hundred yards away. Their multihued cast-offs would keep excellent contrast against the mare’s rich coat and creamy flaxen locks, as well as being a nice complement to Iscariot’s crimson accents.

That settled, Çiçek presses her nose to Rivaini’s near shoulder, nudging her towards her target. Her steps are high enough that she’s nearly prancing, tossing her head and flagging her long white tail in pure joy. Oh, how good it feels to be the torturer, for once, and not the hapless victim! “Come, now, bezelye,”sweet pea,” she croons, her voice light. What was it Solomon had said to them, back in the throws of Autumn? “It’s my turn to transform you from beautiful into irresistible.”

She can only keep up her act for a few seconds before dissolving into giggles. Çiçek shakes her head, raising it to peer around her captive. “Iscariot,” she calls, dulcet tones sweet as honey, “will you please follow along Rivaini’s other side as we walk? Much as I would love to get to know you more closely, I worry that our ever-accommodating guardian may still be a flight risk.” Her eyes flash between the two of them, a giddy sort of grin on her face even as her words turn teasing. She’s taking absolutely no chances here.