Meadow

Each second that passed in their conversation made him less and less hopeful for the reunion he'd dreamed of and more and more certain that she had written him out of her future. Not only was she dodging his questions, but she couldn't even bear to look at him. And while Solomon realistically understood that there could be a million reasons for her wishing to create distance between them, he couldn't let go of the possibility that he was watching the end of them happen in slow motion.

Silence stretched for a moment after he re-extended the invitation to the Cove. He almost wished that he had worded it differently somehow; maybe made it less of a thing for her to respond to. But he couldn't un-make the offer and so he waited patiently, forcing his gaze away from her to reduce the pressure even though every atom of his being cried out for him to study her face for every minute expression she might offer.

Just a few days, she reassured him. Knowing that she had only recently returned should have made him feel better, after all, it meant that she hadn't gone on to find another family or home on the islands themselves. It meant that her departure had been a real one, not just from him and the Cove but from everything else on the islands as well, and while that should have given him some sort of peace of mind, it left him feeling grey inside.

As Tavas continued reassuring him and explaining her reasoning, Solomon remained quiet, his face solemn and his gaze affixed somewhere near her hooves. He could understand the pull of responsibility and of family, and could hardly begrudge Tavas the need to take care of her mother. Solomon could also venture a guess as to the sort of poison that the once-Queen had filled her daughter's head with, given that Vita Nova had never particularly cared for him. Ultimately, he reminded himself, it didn't matter if Tavas had come to conclusion to avoid him on her own or if her mother had contributed. In the end, she had - and was continuing to - chosen to avoid him. Rushing her into anything now would only destroy what fragile embers remained between them.

Warsaw wasn't my father, she says, and his gaze jumpers to her in confusion. Why had they bothered to lie? His attraction to her had never been based on her bloodline anyway, but to know that it had all been a falsehood was hard to swallow. A part of him wanted to deny it as the truth, but it wasn't as if he had been there to know what was or was not a lie, nor did it matter to him, in actuality. He could see why the revelation of this truth would shake her, and sympathized without having any real context to compare it to.

"I'm sorry, Tavas." He murmurs, wishing that this conversation wasn't so stilted. He wanted to reassure her with a touch, to trace his muzzle along the worry lines of her brow until they smoothed away... but he didn't. The longer they spoke, the more Solomon had become convinced that such familiarity was not only a privilege he was no longer afforded but one that he may never regain. Solomon swallowed, and extended his muzzle toward her, only to pull back before actually brushing against her golden coat.

Her ending statement sliced his chest open with a finality that he wasn't expecting and his gaze cut away from her again for a moment as he worked through the emotions swilling through his mind. When he was fairly certain he had at least a passing amount of control over the tone of his voice, he turned back to her and allowed his own emerald gaze to search hers for a reaction. "Is there anything I can do?"

Solomon