Lion Head Mesa That's a fine looking high horse

She watches. She’s watched. She knows not to trust, but the wine loosens her muscles and she’s pasted there intentionally. They take their turns at the bowl and exchange attentive laps, everything known yet unspoken accumulating on wine-dyed breaths.

The servant makes a nod, “The Queen is good to me here. I am going to stay.” She has no intention of returning to the place where they met, she would make that known.

“Will you?” The ask is timid but she allows herself to settle back, ears keeping politely perked. She shifts the bowl closer to Legend.