ORIGIN

her father's agreement came softly behind her, and damask flicked a tufted ear in acknowledgment, waiting for the sound of beating wings or taloned footfalls to take her home; but none came. slowly her eyes slid open, the effort nigh monumental. she'd gotten what she needed: closure and disclosure, a weight lifted off her shoulders and set in turn to fill up her thoughts. the furious turbulence of not knowing had been the only force keeping her exhaustion at bay. now, that fatigue truly set in, deep and hollow and thoroughly aching in her muscles, bones, and lungs.

what had she been doing all this time? she needed to sleep. eat something. give her magic a rest. put her head on straight.

she almost didn't want to take it. it had long since gone cold, it would drag her down in flight, and she just — ... she wanted to forget about it. all that it symbolized. but it wouldn't be right. with a sigh, damask turned fully and trudged up the steps to grasp the caroller gently in her mouth. maybe auré would accept it, as he had the last; otherwise, she would just have to stomach it herself.

the fledgling hopped back around to face him, then spread her sails and gestured to the ceiling with a jerk of her muzzle: you coming, dad? the stars winked and glittered overhead, a map in lights to pave their path. she crouched and sprang into the air, eyes down to ensure that he followed — leading the way.

that's what kings do, isn't it?