It has been something slightly more than fifteen years since he finally buried Gregor. It had been difficult between them since he'd begun edging up to fifty, had only gotten worse over time. Petty fights about worthlessness and age and beauty and, mundanely enough, money and infidelities, things that... simply did not concern Jast. His lack of
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Yet, Jast considers this. The memory of the moon high overhead, framed on all sides by the dark silhouettes of the forest. It had been high summer, warm with clear skies and he had gazed up from the sandy shore and listened to all the moon's lonely arias. She had been so near the Earth, he could have touched her, dipped his hand beneath her quicksilver surface and felt the slow drip of time on his skin. He had begged a boon instead. Had wanted to show Gregor the stars as he saw them, glittering living things with voices and beauties unique to each and she had consented to send her cousins down. He'd caught them in the smooth mirror of the lake, thanked them with long-forgotten prayers, musical apotheosis that set them dancing along the glistening fins of tiny flitting fish.
He had given someone his heart there amongst the concurrence of captured stars. He shouldn't have tried to forget. His eyes pale slightly, sad reminiscence unavoidable, thin winter light bleaching them further as it shines over his face. He hasn't been back there in a long time. Perhaps it is time to go and take his heart back from where it lies on the silty lake bed.
He would rather be walking, and it is his turn to take the prince's hand and lead. He is tall, but he has long since adopted a slow, relaxed stride, feels the the plants around him curling up comfortably for the harsh season. He tucks them down into the moist soil comfortably as he walks by. The work of the earth in the company of a sky-king. Jast smiles distantly. What a disastrous, dangerous friendship he's forged for himself; as if he never learns.
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He has memories of the stars, gleaming jewels over rivers and garden fountains, pale glittering pockmarks in the dark fabric of midnight flight. His brothers and sisters often quarreled over names of constellations, devoured competition of wit as only siblings could, argued over Orion the hunter and Ursa Major the Great Bear, hoped one day to find a gyrfalcon nestled among those eminent leaders paving diamond talons through the route of sky. Niarkhos always gave into such bickering and chatter, always fueled the flame of his brothers' ambition and soothed the doubt of his sisters' logic, felt responsible for their hopes and aspirations.
For now, he rubs the pad of a rough thumb over the fleshy center of Jast's palm and pushes thoughts of falcon stars from his head, focuses on the feathery dark hair and hidden eyes ahead. Daylight waxes brighter. "My favorite has always been the North Star," the bird purls thoughtfully. A symbol of navigation, one he can rely on.
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He can smell a rogue seaberry bush nearby and pulls his friend along to it, plucking up a handful of small orange berries. They're delicious citrusy little things that survive long into the winter. He picks out a juicy one carefully and pushes it straight past Niarkhos' lips, pausing there with an amused expression to see if he will object.
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"A treat of yours?" he asks, reaching to pluck a few more from the branch and rolling them curiosily over the dips and grooves of a cupped palm.
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"People brought them from across the sea." They're strong plants, could grow anywhere, but from what Jast understands, humans are too used to assuming all winter berries are inedible to them. He knows better, the plants themselves are happy to tell him. "The birds are spreading them, seed by seed."
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"I'm still unused to that, people bringing seeds. Before, it was always the other way around. Seeds bringing the people and the animals to them." He sounds thoughtful, rolls another berry between fingertips, presses it to Jast's mouth with a reflection of playfulness.
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"Your age is showing," he chirps out cheekily. There's undeniable affection in his voice. He wouldn't trade the prince's stories for anything.
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"I try not to let it. But you caught me," he humorously admits, shakes hair off his brow and winds his arm around the little thing's waist, tugs him into step with a slight nuzzle into that pale slope of shoulder.
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"I like it," Jast murmurs softly. He closes his eyes, leaned comfortably into him.
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Even if it only lasts until they're separated, he finds himself warming under Jast's touch and doesn't quite want to let him free, not for a bit, as long as this goes. The prince tips his head back, far enough for bronze lashes to flutter over auric eyes, fingers stroking along the little one's upper back, following bumps of vertebra in a lazy path. He lands a feathery kiss on smooth lips, barely-there enough to feel except for the heat of their shared breath, a promise of strength and safety.
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He... hopes it's all right to want this kiss now though. Because he does and he holds onto it dearly.
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"Where will you go next?" he asks softly, eyes piercing royal blue, expression open and soft. It is a formality, perhaps, to inquire after a friend's plans, but... it is different for Jast here. It is their ritual now, the spell they've used to cast the loose threads they've wound around each other; unwittingly or not.
He asks because he will be waiting patiently for the next time the bird chooses to appear. Quiet and content, but waiting nonetheless.
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Easily falling into the rhythm of their ritual, the prince steps over cool grass that tickles bare ankles and turns his eyes onto the distant horizon. "Somewhere far from here. It's a long journey but the blackbirds seem eager to accompany me for a small portion of it. And I'm sure I'll find other friends along the way."
They are never journeys alone, but they are still lonely, the company of birds only goes so far. Niarkhos hums something at Jast, a musical sound.
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