Broken Boulder and i'll be your fever

 dawn breaks softly over the sanctuary. in the shade of alarian's den, the sun does not reach delight's fur to warm him. this is fine: it is an excuse for him to press closer, stealing body heat from the golden form beside him. his mind, half-awake, mulls the tiniest irony of this. mato had been quicksilver given form, cold and blinding. a silver prince. @Alarian is gold, heat in danger of burning him. not royalty at all? not really. but he likes that. it had been easy to hold mato at an arms length by making him a prince, an idealised figure, a nameless symbol of something delight wanted. alarian is simply alarian, and he is here, and delight's paws curl around him as much as he is allowed, sighing as he brings his nose to rest underneath the other boy's cheek. 

"g'morn," he mumbles, voice rough with sleep, cracking one silver eye open.