(Untitled)

[wolflord_andain]

It has not been a quiet day.

In these times, few of them are.

But it has been a day in which Galadan has found himself yearning for a bit of quiet, a bit of forest, and so it is that he has found himself at Milliways.

The lake is really quite lovely this time of year.

And it looks nothing like the sea.

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[river_meimei]

Hektor and his stallion Boukephalos are gone now, but their visit was recent enough that Boukephalos -- the other one, the great black stallion Crowley brought from another Troy for a beloved broken prophetess -- is still on edge, prancing and snorting at the wind.

So River is curled on the ground just inside his paddock, back to a fencepost, watching him. Boukephalos, for all his neck-arched posturing, never comes too near her.

When Galadan comes into view, River seems not to notice for several moments.

And then her head snaps around, and her shoulders and face tighten.

[wolflord_andain]

Galadan smiles faintly, though it falls away rather quickly.

"River."

Winter-grey eyes study her in silence for a time.

"Are you unwell?"

[river_meimei]

River's head shifts sideways; the motion takes a moment to resolve into a headshake.

"I'm listening," she says, low.

She hasn't looked away from Galadan yet, and her bearing is tense and wary.

Boukephalos, perhaps picking up on it, snorts and paws at the ground, tearing at grass, and River lifts an absent hand to calm him (without visible effect) without taking her eyes from Galadan.

[wolflord_andain]

"Are you."

Oddly enough it isn't a question.

"And what are you hearing?"

Beat.

"If I may ask, of course."