Falls

Solomon’s touch still excites her. Even as the child makes her belly as round as a pearl, even so far out of season, she can feel her skin shudder beneath his caress, turning her to putty in his metaphorical hands. Çiçek all but purrs in response to his nearness, intoxicated by the cocktail of emotions and feelings and hormones his proximity to her brings. It makes her dizzy, almost, and she draws a steadying breath, the scent of pine and of him flooding her senses.

How will she possibly resist him come autumn?

It would be so easy to give in, to push the buttons she knows will work them both into a frenzy, but the doubt that edges like winter’s last grasping frost across him tempers her urges. She can feel it as she skims over Siobhan’s theft, read it in the lines of his face and the taut edge to his words, and she knows all he does is worry because he cares for her, but it still rankles. Does he not remember their conversation from last fall? Çiçek is a mare driven as if by the wind, tossed about like a dandelion seed, as willing and able to throw out roots as she is to pick up and go. This attachment - to him, to Rivaini, to Faolain, even - is new for her, something she’s interested in pursuing but that doesn’t necessarily come naturally. Neither does bending to another’s will, however thoroughly founded in hard-lived experience it may be. How far are they both inclined to compromise for the sake of their growing bond? How far can they bend before they break?

Çiçek’s worry fades, slightly, as Solomon leans close to her stomach. She rolls her eyes with feigned disdain at his exaggerated whispering to their foal, her false scowl melting into an impish sort of grin. “Kralım,”“My king,” she murmurs, her voice turning once more to plush velvet on her tongue, “I have missed you from the moment you left my side.” She reaches for him, grazing her teeth along the top of his crest. “And you are not the only one who got us to this point, if my memory serves me right.”

Çiçek meets his gaze with her own, the embers there fizzling at his questions. Confusion flashes over her delicate face, just briefly; isn’t it obvious what she’s doing here? She’s alone, her eyes still sting from the remnants of her heart-heavy goodbyes, and she wears the tokens of her Guardians’ affection. She can guess why he asks, why he hesitates, and though she wants to push him on it, she chooses to give him a bit of mercy, unwilling to spoil their reunion with arguments and second-guessing. “Well, yes,” she replies nonchalantly, glancing at him sidelong. “I was under the impression you had gathered plenty of other mares and foals to keep me warm.”

As much as it pains her, Çiçek peels herself away from the golden stallion, prancing a few paces away. “Unless you *want* me to find some other scoundrel here...” She pauses, one hoof raised, flagging her long white tail. Her eyes meet his, glittering in silent challenge.

It’s a farce, of course. She isn’t going anywhere. Not without him.