A call for death is one the Queen knows, maybe not intimately, but well enough. She knows it is strange enough that Isardis has escaped such a call for so long. Slender limbs carry the blade to his side, seeking him out like a moth to a flame. Oh, she does not doubt his superiority, but he has been bested once, even if only ever so slightly. And, as it happens, the beast who had bested him was the same who summoned for him now. ?Isardis,? she calls for him. She does not doubt his strength, not in his prime at least, but he is older now. He has been through many battles with her, and she cannot imagine a world without him in it. ?Come to me,? she requests as she searches for him. She wishes to speak to him before he leaves. Even if what she has to say will disgust him, she yearns to say it nonetheless.

?Will you bury me, Argent?? he questions, voice perhaps overly demanding for such an imposing situation; weaving beneath the looming shadows of the ice-ridge that encompassed his province. A cloud passes by the moon for a blinking instance, further casting the duo into obscurity before the pallid ghoul is revealed in his wholesome splendour. He loiters a short distance from her, cherry lips pulled taut into a simper of flourishing ecstasy. ?And if I prevail, will she forge a corridor of turmoil with me elsewhere?? yes, Isardis held frail desires to depart from Alacritis; whether it was physically or spiritually after tonights savagery he did not know, but the lands had grown far too dull for his tastes.

He greets her with a question. Will she bury him? Argent cannot imagine such a thing, cannot imagine how she would live without purpose, how she could manage to put him in his grave. ?When you prevail,? she informs him, moving and seeking to touch her muzzle to his. Perhaps she is out of line, but she is his Queen, she is his sword, and despite the bravado she breathes through her lips she fears these may be their last moments. ?I will follow you to the ends of the Earth and back, and never will I stray,? she tells him. There is an intense look in her crimson gaze, as they seek to look into soft ruby. A sigh departs her nostrils, her concern evident. ?I love you,? she says. It is true, and she does not expect to hear the words back from him, but she needs to know that he would have heard it from her. Needs to know that, should this be their last encounter, he would still know where her heart lay. Where her loyalties lay.

His lips quiver in mild entertainment of her words, and though he seems tranquil, the muscles of his shoulders have begun to involuntarily twitch, quaking beneath the knowledge of an impending battle. He allows her touch, and leans to it, salmon tongue lashing at the pinpoints of her dark whiskers. Somewhat unexpectantly he feels a wave of relief upon their contact, remembering a feeling that had been long since lost. Today, he is not plagued by their times of distrust, it does not pass his mind; in the moment, they are renewed. ?Age is not on my side,? he comments casually, tone somewhat free of obvious sentiment, ?But I won?t be swayed.? He has not spoken of the tumour that boils behind his thigh, hidden and unseen, not large enough to affect his movement as yet but he well knew it was there. Lips quiver with pleasure upon her plead of love, and though he cannot bring himself to repeat such to her, he cranes his throat affectionately over her muzzle, ?I hope you forever will.?