#scarletryst

Neatly in a row, they sat. Sleek ink black wings fluttering over the barren branches. The sun shone in the middle of the sky, but its light somehow felt cold brushing against his skin.

What do you see? A voice whispered the question, but he had no opportunity to answer as everything rapidly faded away.

The dreams come and go, always as they pleased. He tried to hold onto the details, but they kept on slipping through his grasp like a breeze. By the time Chatri stepped out of the door, he'd forgotten about the crows, the dead forest, and the sun of ice. All that remained was a headache, and the lingering sense of dread.

"I should not drink," he winced, bringing a hand to his throbbing temple. "It makes the dreams worse." He was speaking with Muwon, who drank significantly more last night but looked absolutely, infuriatingly fine. As for their relationship, let's just say they arrived at House Klahan on the same day and took their first breaths not far from each other. Chatri decided early on that he could consider this one close, and the fact that Muwon tended to the horses should not diminish their friendship but instead, enhance it.

Of course, there were some that did not understand their bond and began to spread a rather salacious rumour featuring - supposedly - nights of endless passion between a lord and his bewitching (?) servant. To that, Chatri could only say this - he would rather crawl in bed with the dancing drunkard they encountered yesterday. The one with a massive beard who started raving nonsense after his third ale and swayed his body in the most peculiar pattern as if he was attempt to summon a demon. Because there was such a thing called knowing someone too well and a part of him would never be able to see Muwon past a screeching toddler.