"I can make a horse," Devin stated.

"You're going to burn our house down, my dear brother," Dawson whispered hoarsely. (i'm so funny. future dash pls take this out. or don't)

"Watch," Devin said simply, then summoned a flame, twisting it into the shape of a flaming horse. Dawson watched in wonder as the tiny horse figure even galloped.

"Is that Heron?" Dawson asked.

Heron was the horse Devin had taken with him on his journey with Conor to Glengavin, and he had fallen in love with the animal. Somehow, a search party from Glengavin had discovered the two horses, Heron and Balios, halfway down the mountain, and had returned them to their rightful owners.

"It could be," Devin answered with a shrug. "Heron has a shorter tail, though."

Dawson leaned forward. "Make a.. black wildcat," he suggested.

Devin nodded, his face twisting up in focus as the flaming horse shifted to a flaming wildcat. Dawson grinned, clapping. "What are you going to name your creation?" he joked.

Devin stared at it for a long moment. "Her name is Elda," he said at last.

"Elda?"

"Yes."

"That's a stupid name."

"You're so mean to me," Devin pouted.

Conor sat on the soft grass, watching Balios snack on the long grass that his owner had decided to grow out for him. He had his nose in a map, reading all the towns and cities that were etched into it.

"Where should we be off to next, boy?" he called out to his horse, who simply nickered in response. "Good answer, I agree," Conor agreed sarcastically. "I say we head to Trynsfield," he announced, folding the map once more and shoving it into his back pocket.

There was another noise from Balios, which Conor could now recognize as one of disappointment. He realized with good humour that the animal had eaten all of the long, fresh grass, and the rest of the grass surrounding the patch was mostly dead.

"Alright, alright," Conor said in mock exasperation, "you can have a little more."

He placed his hands on the ground, Balios ruffling his blond hair slightly with his big horse lips, then slowly raised his hands. The grass longed to chase his fingertips, drawn to him. "There," he said, looking up at his horse. "Eat up."

Devin was mighty surprised when he saw the messenger pigeon pecking at his window. If anyone ever wanted to speak to him, they spoke to him directly, or sent him a formal letter. Not a single soul ever sent a messenger pigeon for him.

Well, maybe one.

The prince shuffled towards his window, opening it and crooning at the bird as he untied the message from its leg. It stared at him blankly.

Your Royal Highness, Prince Devin Trunswick (my dearest friend),

I am in Trynsfield. Come say hi, if you want, it's not too far. Balios misses his friend, as do I.

- C.

Devin recognized it immediately as Conor's handwriting, for it quite literally looked like it had been written by a drunk chicken. He flipped the paper over, grabbing a quill from his desk. The pigeon continued to stare holes through him with its terrible little beady eyes.

Eura's Bravest Adventurer & My Mental Support, Conor,

Say less, sweetheart.

- D.

Devin tied the message back onto the pigeon's leg. "Return to sender," he said simply. It sat there. He frowned. "I have no food for you. Begone."

He slammed the window shut, and it still stared at him for a long moment before taking off.

Conor watched the small figure on the horse draw closer and closer as he continued galloping. He glanced at Balios, who was prancing excitedly, noticing Heron on the distance.

"You'd think there was a wolf on his tail at the speed he's going," Conor murmured to no one in particular.

A few minutes later, Heron skid to a halt, both horse and rider breathing heavily.

"Good afternoon," Devin said casually.

Conor blinked up at him from the ground.

"Afternoon, Devin," he couldn't help but say warmly.