---

It had been raining for days, off and on. Most of the interior of the castle was well-sheltered from it entirely or most of the downpour, but he'd checked the underground level and found it unfit for anyone to go there. He'd been sure to announce to the Concordians to be cautious of flooding and slick marble flooring, but found himself preferring to be outside of the castle. His usual room was one of the drippy ones, and there was a tapestry scrap bundled in a corner that was giving it a musty smell. Francis was loathe to leave the place, though. There was a growing collection of all the flowers Kairos had brought him, shielded from the worst of the moisture between a shelf and the top of a lopsided dresser. Most of the older ones were dry, shriveled but holding a faint shred of their original color. The newer ones were still holding on the best they could, in all shapes and sizes - ranging from daisies to lobelias to roses and more.

He was partial to anything but a rose. He'd had some help to put that one behind his ear and ended up mildly stabbed by one of the thorns the entire day.

Francis was attempting to hunt, but the petrichor and scent of wet loam permeated the moors heavily since the rains. He was lucky it wasn't raining now, but the skies were certainly threatening another cold late summer storm.

It was clear enough without the rain to try to hunt with his eyes, but that meant coming up on something close enough to either see or hear. No luck yet, and mud was clumping the fur of his ankles in smeared, damp strands.

The Prince sighed, swishing his tail instead of muttering a curse. They needed to gather food and keep weight on everyone before fall and winter hit. There were plenty of bears living out on the moors, not often seen but scented, and they would be a nuisance to trying to properly catch and eat prey during the fall. Francis continued on his way, lost in thought and plans for the worst-case scenarios his paranoid mind kept providing him.

He did not notice the particularly wet, squishy terrain he began to walk on, or the bend of the sparse trees set in the sloping hillside he was meandering across. Francis had more pressing matters to think about than notice the evidence up ahead of where a flash flood had already weakened the foundation of the earth he stood on...until they earth began to give way.

To his credit, he tried to move, leaping up the side of the hill in an effort to avoid being caught up in the way the earth, once solid, had almost become a violently moving liquid. In the end, the current caught one of the Prince's mud-slicked paws and yanked his legs out from under him like a particularly cruel rug.

He was tumbling, head over heels, down the hillside with the rest of the stones, mud, moss, bushes, sticks and trees that had once been set in the hillside - no longer a hillside, but a gaping maw of raw and open earth.

He popped his head up once the earth stopped thrashing beneath him, pleased to find himself not crushed beneath an impromptu grave.

For a second, as Francis determined he was not pinned so badly he could not get up, he was already making plans for future landslide-risk assessment and warnings to give to the Concordians so no one else would stumble into the same situation he had.

Then the pain hit, an electric hot-cold throbbing that started in his front left wrist and radiated outward from there, ending somewhere vague in his elbow but threatening to go further.

Likely, Francis thought, if he moved. But he was currently encased in wet mud and a rock was jammed uncomfortably in his side. He would have to move eventually, and the adrenaline hadn't worn off yet. He was up on his feet in a second, a low groan huffing past the Prince's clenched teeth. Three limbs were in good working order, besides a few achy bruises-to-be. And his front limb was searingly painful.

Definitely broken, but not so bad it was misaligned, at least.

He glanced around, failing to spot anyone for the time being.

Good. No one here to hear him. MERDE (FUCK) Francis spat, ears pinning to his skull. He was less in pain than he was angry with himself. This kind of setback could seriously affect the Concord.

He tentatively set weight onto his paw, and suddenly, the Delacroix missed his mother quite a lot.

She's drawn out by the way it has yet to rain that day. There's promise of it in the way the skies are dark with grey clouds and the air still holds the scent of rain, but Kairos doesn't care. Her legs are restless and she wants to move. The furthest she has gone in days is to the garden, to still tend to it and to bring Francis his daily delivery, and though she's not caged, the rain has made it hard to do much as it all but pelted to the ground in vicious pressure. She had been rebellious for some of the days, marching outside despite the way she had been automatically sodden, and had stayed outside out of principle.

Yet today was the first day the rain had let up, and Kairos had all but rushed from her quarters with untampered delight. The ground was sodden, no solid soil in sight as grass held pools of muddy water, and she knew that her plants so badly needed a dry or day to, lest they drown. The mud splashed against her pale ankles but she cared not; freedom awaits.

She had, before she left the castle, went to see if Francis might enjoy some freedom with her, but he had been absent from his rooms and Kairos couldn't spy hide nor hair of him within the ruin walls. He must have decided to take advantage of the lack of rain, too, and the thought made her giggle. Perhaps she might extend her venture just a bit further than usual, and perhaps she might find him a new flower to bring home — one that she did not yet have in her gardens.

Stretching her legs, Kairos' steps held a bounce and a sway both, her chin angled towards the sky as she breathed in the crisp freshness of the earth. Everything was so wet and squishy, and she could feel the way even as light as she was, she sunk into the soaked mud.

Eyes of fire and ice remained glittering with delight at the change of scenery, and they were attentive to new plants that she might find along the way. It was the shout that drew her to a halt and though she had never heard the word leave his mouth, she knew his voice. Francis? Kairos called out after a moment. The Parthenon drew forward on hurried legs, gaze owlish as she seeks out the sight of him.

It's the wayward ground that catches her attention. Crumpled and broken, sliding down with evidence of mischief. She could see him at the bottom of the landslide, awkwardly pressed against a rock, and sodden and slick with mud. Francis, the Parthenon said again, tilting her head to the side. What are you doing down there? Kairos leaned over the slippery edge, testing the strength and solidity of it with her forepaws, and chewed on her inner cheek as she debated trying to slide down.

Francis — Francis did you fall? the redhead asked suddenly, glancing from the ground to him and back, and concern laced her winged features as she inched over the edge.

---

Francis was wriggling, trying to free himself out of the muck while still not using his injured paw as much as possible, when familiar tones struck his ears. He jolted, head swinging to watch Kairos' elegant features appear over the edge of the mud-slide wrecked hillside.

Miss Parthenon! He blinked dumbly at her. Please be careful, the terrain may still be unstable. He was significantly more concerned with her safety, of course, the moment she'd appeared she was now his responsibility to care for. He did recall their conversation, though.

He was expected to lean on her as she him. Francis puffed a sigh through his lips. He'd promised.

Francis, did you fall? The panic in Kairos' tone was evident, and Francis focused his attention on the moment, heaving himself through the slippery muck to stand on his good three paws. I'm alright, my lady. I'm fine. I did fall, but I...Just hurt my ankle. Nothing life-threatening, I think. He wasn't actually sure what kind of medical intervention they could offer him, but...The bones would knit themselves together sooner or later, if given time.

He glanced up at her, still hovering anxiously at the top of the hill. He'd rather she not risk injury sliding down, but he severely doubted he could stop her if she decided she was going to assist him.

It was amusing in an endearing way, a welcome distraction from his ache in his ankle. Let's meet up at the less...muddy side of the hill, shall we? He kept the paw tucked carefully, close to his chest.