(no subject)

May 13, 2009 00:11

Mare had gone to the castle.

Then he had gone to Greece.

He'd followed Mary Anne's scent until he found her, and then grabbed the hem of her shirt and tugged, demanding in urgent words that the Queen must come. She must come now.

Mare had led her back to Milliways, out into the woods, and began the trek deep into the forest, worried whine echoing from his ancient throat.

The Lady is not well, my Queen. She refuses to eat. To change her clothes. To come into the bar, to go to the castle, to do anything but sit in her tree and leak from her eyes.
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