Honeyed Pasture nightking

he'd come back, because of course he had. 
the moon was round, glowing among her starlight courtiers as lionel mayfair picked his way across the flat plain where he had seen the bear and then met here,
and he cursed himself for not getting her name.
why hadn't he asked? "stupid fuckin' idiot," he moaned at himself, to himself, a pale figure hunting fervently for any lasting trace of her scent in the pasture. he hadn't said where he was going; he didn't know where knaven or bijou were, not truly. lionel was a searchlight, and on a whim he tilted back his head and called into the lightbound night for the mysterious amazon.