Jade Fern Grove ACT I SCENE I

Feathered ears lay deeper within the curly webs of his nape. Had angel not believed him; was his forswear too aware? Fire begins to catch, far too hot, and before long its uncomfortable blanket twas too much for the swan for sweat beads upon a rosy nose. 

Yet the angel submissiveness is discourse, and inching closer, breast still kissing the ground, the nymph ventures. Barely breaths away as  attempt to sniff at the stranger’s chin twas made.

“Icarus Solas Helaine of house Elvhenan, first of thy’ name and son of Ashalle Helanine,” The titles spill from his tongue in modest rhythm like the tides of the sun. Bestowed upon him since conception of his morder’s womb, the wolfling had memorized long before he learned to run.

 “Good dawning to you, and...” A  whisper. “Salutations. Mateo, doctor of Bay… Thee are friend, yes?” Mateo— the title coats his tongue. Easy for the maiden to pronounce, yet wonders if that is all. Did this Mateo not own titles? Could it be that perhaps they were a commoner? Surely not, for all their beauty was fairest.