Warwick and Cicero Pt 2

CHAPTER TWO: Scheming

The goddess Delaine had turned the sky into her own giant canvas and was busy streaking it with swathes of peach and pink as Cicero reached Warwick under the horse chestnut tree. Like most of the trees in the area, the broad leaves were wilted and going brown, and the trunk was worn smooth in places from the itching hides of various Reapers over the years. The tree was a popular meeting place, its high position giving great views of the rest of the meadow and the grazing unicorns below. Warwick pricked up his ears as Cicero approached, her midnight fog coat damp from her swim. The light from her aura charm pulsed like a heart, subtly lighting her lovely face and ice blue eyes.  Something in his stomach clenched, just slightly, at the sight of her. A little voice in his head screamed him to nuzzle her, caress her, sweep her off her feet, tell her how he felt! Ruthlessly he shut off the voice. He couldn’t tell her! She wouldn’t want to go near him again, and he couldn’t let that happen. Cicero meant too much to him for that. And she didn’t even know it.
   “Hey, Warwick,” she said, unaware of his inner struggle.  She smiled, and seeing it tugged at his heartstrings. She was pleased to see him!
   “Cicero, Trev said you’d stop by.” Warwick replied.
   “Yes, I thought you’d want to know that the foal spirits have been laid to rest. They needed me to tell their families that they were at peace and one of them needed to let his friend know he forgave him for some argument they had that seems to important to the young.” A sad sigh escaped her velvet lips at the loss of two young lives so full of potential and promise. This part of her job always hurt, when the dead involved were young or had died unjustly. It was a burden many Reapers had to live with, but that didn’t make it any easier to bear. At least she had her brother and her friends to help her cope. At least Trevalyn, and to a certain extent Warwick, dealt with only the worst of the dead. They didn’t have grieving families to placate and lost, unhappy and often confused spirits to guide to the place they deserved to find eternal happiness. It weighed on her heart, and sometimes haunted her dreams.
   The sight of the forlorn look on her face was too much for Warwick’s tender heart to bear and so subconsciously he reached up to brush his muzzle against her neck, so quickly and so gently it might have been as though a moth had landed there. Cicero’s heart skipped a beat; it was the first time he had really touched her on purpose. She swiftly wrapped up the sensation and tucked it away along with his image in the memory box of her mind.
   Realising what he had done, Warwick stepped back, unsure of how she’d react. She didn’t seem shocked or angry by his affectionate gesture, but she was so shy and reserved that maybe she didn’t want to offend him.
   “I’m sorry…” he tried to apologise, but Cicero cut him off.
   “Don’t worry about it.” She assured him, anxious not to make him think she had objected to the caress.
  He shot her a tiny half smile, and wondered if it was time he really tried his luck. Fumbling for the words he began,
   “Cicero, I was wondering if, well, if you wanted to come and graze with me. I mean, I found this really good patch of new grass earlier and I was going to ask Trev if he wanted to share it this evening, but he wanted to see Etoile, and, well, I was wondering if… if you wanted to join me?" Slightly breathless from his outburst he shuffled from hoof to hoof, nervous as to what her reply would be.
   Hardly able to contain her excitement, Cicero swallowed the grin that was threatening to take over her lips.
   “I’d really like that Warwick.” She managed to convince the grin to downsize to a small smile, but inside her organs danced for joy. Obviously he only meant the invitation in a friendly capacity, but even so it was a rare thing for them to spend time together without Trevalyn or Etoile.
   The pair set off down the slope towards the promised grassy patch, but not without being noticed by the watchful turquoise eyes of a certain blue mare.

Etoile gave a delighted smirk as she watched Cicero and Warwick head off towards a small grove of ash saplings, deep in quiet conversation. She had been watching the exchange between them, and a plan was already starting to formulate in her ready brain.
   Behind her, Trev lifted his masked face from where he was sampling some rather delicious cow parsley shoots and quirked his brow at her.
   “What are you looking at, love?” he asked curiously.
   “Oh, nothing.” She replied blithely, not willing as of yet to let him in on her schemes. Love her mate as she did, she didn’t think he would be particularly receptive at this point in time to her suspicions as to Warwick and Cicero’s feelings for each other. Some sweet-talking, and maybe some head-rapping, would be in order first.
   “Come on Etoile, let take a walk along the river before we go to sleep.” Trev called.
   Turning, Etoile threw one last glance at the retreating shapes of her friends, before following her mate. Trotting to catch up, she playfully nipped him on the whither as she passed before breaking into a canter. With a squeal of mock outrage, Trev kicked up his heels and chased after her, the light-hearted antics soothing his soul after the darkness of the past few days.

As the sky darkened and the night birds began their soothing chorus, Etoile and Trevalyn lay curled beneath the drooping fronds of an elegant weeping willow. Nearby a brook babbled over a shallow bed of pebbles, it’s sound a surprisingly restful one to Etoile’s ears. The ground was mossy, making it a soft and comfortable bed for the pair. A combination of the light from the sickle moon and the glow from Etoile’s star meant there was enough light to see by, without it being too bright for sleep. The branches of the willow created a kind of leafy nest, secluded and protected from the outside world. In the summer the branches kept the den cool, and in the winter or when the weather was bad then the tree protected them from the rain or snow. It was the place that Etoile considered her and Trev’s own. As she lay there, with the warmth of her mate’s body pressed against her side, Etoile felt completely at peace. It felt good to have him beside her again. When he was gone it was like he took a piece of her heart with him and it was a feeling she could never, and would never, get used to. It still surprised her, even to this day, just how deep inside her heart this fierce, valiant warrior had delved. She had known of love, seen it in her devoted parents, but before Trevalyn she hadn’t realised just what a strong and powerful emotion it was. She could feel Trev’s breathing get deeper, and she knew her mate on the verge of sleep. Their nest was close enough to the rest of the group that they would hear easily if anything upset the herd, but far enough away that they had privacy. Even so, his tufted ears were constantly flicking around, searching for the smallest sign of danger. She knew he was tired from his hunting, but even that wouldn’t stop him from doing his utmost to protect her. With a sleepy smile she turned her head and nuzzled his neck. He gave what could only be called a purr of pleasure, and flicked his tail so that the glossy plume was draped over Etoile’s side and legs. Oh, how’d she missed that small comfort. Seeing as he seemed to be in a fairly good mood, Etoile decided it was time to test the waters.
   “Trev,” she began, “has it ever occurred to you that maybe your sister has her eye on somebody, a stallion in the herd?”
   “Cicero?” replied his sleep-stoked voice.
   “Yes silly, she is your only sister.” Etoile reminded him, stifling a giggle. Poor Trev really was quite tired. “Of course I mean Cicero.”
   “Oh. No I hadn’t thought about it.” Trev admitted.
   “And what about Warwick?” She asked.
   “Warwick? I don’t know, he mentioned something earlier about what it was like to be bound to somebody, but that’s it. Etoile, is this going anywhere? Because I really wouldn’t mind getting some sleep.”
   “Don’t worry about it, honey, you just get some sleep.” She told him, accompanying it with another nuzzle. He had given her a morsel to digest, albeit a small one. Obviously he hadn’t seen how his sister and partner looked at each other. But then again, her mate was a male and maybe males didn’t notice things like that.
   The night wore on, and before long Trevalyn had fallen into a deep sleep. Etoile watched him affectionately. Even in slumber he didn’t lose that warrior edge he wore like a second skin, although it did soften slightly. His face relaxed, the severe expression he so often wore was smoothed away and he looked more innocent. Idly Etoile wondered if this was how the legendary stallion Idfar had looked to his divine lover Delaine when they were alone. Trev had taught her the myth that had lead to the birth of the Reaper Unicorns, and it was a tragic story that had touched something inside of her. She sympathised with the goddess about the strong feelings she had felt for Idfar, and hoped against hope she would never have to experience the same feelings as Delaine when her mortal lover had been slain in battle. Soon however her own eyelids began to droop, and she fell into dreams of battles and love everlasting, weeping goddesses and proud fighters.