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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"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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"Many friends," he agrees, perhaps too infatuated to believe others could not find the prince as fascinating as he does. He watches the sun and the horizon shining in tawny eyes. He is terribly fond of the wild pieces of this creature.
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Niarkhos chirrups in return, draws the little one close again to feather lips over his brow, then draws away, perhaps for the last time until they meet again. "Will you look for me?"
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