Firefly Glen [phe] Iset

Their procession was a grand statement—it was meant to be, to garner attention. Wolves lined in kohl, adorned in beauty and upkept with nothing less than perfection. Toula had drawn his eyes as she had many—her radiance did not come from the jewels and glamor of a rich kingdom, but from the smile and laugh in which she gave the world—the kind amusement that glittered in her eyes.

Unlike many others who had sought the eyes of the royals on their arrival, Akavir had drifted back to blend in with the crowd—instead lingering among silence for now—his own mood greatly dampened after his recent interlude with the two yearlings he had brought with him, and the hatred that seemed to always radiate from his own daughter’s milky eyes.

Toula would find the Mayfair settled at the base of a large tree near the creek’s assigned camp—his back pressed lightly to it as pale eyes caught her own gaze. “Pharaoh,” he offered, his lips quirking to a faint smile.

Her jodai was nowhere in sight. He wondered of this.