Spectre is riveted to the spot, her worries forgotten for the moment at Ankou’s happy squeal, his forehead pressed tightly to her chest. A spurt of warmth flashes through her entire being. So this was what it was like to be a mother. She would probably never foal one of her own; she is much too fearful to pass on her disability to an innocent youth. Though she had learned to live with it, she had never seen the world around her, only touch, tasted, and smelt it. She does not know what trees look like; can only shape their form in her mind. The piney scent of the Lake’s forest, the rough texture of their trunks, and the sound of the branches as they brush against her skin; that is all she knows, all the sensory input she has to form in her imagination a tree. Of course, she can discern vague shadows, some better than others. But as she has aged, the shadows have grown more indefinite; she has become increasingly unable to distinguish even the simplest of shapes in her shadowy world. Her heart clenches at the thought of never being able to lay eyes on her beloved Ankou. And Donegal as well. This thought is followed by a deep, guttural laugh, the sound pouring freely from her king’s maw. The utterance brings a smile to her features, the blackened lips tugged upwards in a wide grin. I don’t think I will ever tire of hearing that sound. You don’t laugh often enough, my king. And of course I don’t want you to hear all my thoughts. A lady does have her secrets, after all.
And just like that, the conversation has turned serious again. Though she cannot see it, she too, can feel his eyes boring into her flesh, stripping away the layers she had so carefully laid. Without realizing it, she holds her breath, silently awaiting his response. What had she done? She did not wish any undue attention, did not strive for power by any means. Perhaps some would stoop so low as to catch the king’s eye simply for the pleasure of a higher rank, but not Spectre, not ever. She did not wish to carry the responsibilities of a kingdom on her shoulder. Even without the gift of sight, she could hear the weariness in Donegal’s voice, feel the tension in his mind reaching out for solace. She could not even imagine the stress the difficulties of running a kingdom have wrought on the ebony brute’s mind. He steps towards her, his close proximity not unwelcome and yet unsettling. His muzzle brushes hers and she freezes. Thousands of voices clamor for attention in her head, her eyes wide, flesh trembling. Oh, she loved. Gods, how she loved him! She could not say when it had happened, or really even why, but her heart was his now and forever. She wallows in this revelation for only a few seconds, breath still held, the only movement the involuntary quivering of her muscles, legs threatening to give out beneath her.
He speaks, his rough voice washing over her, her eyes closed in ecstasy. A mistake? Absolutely not, it couldn’t be. How could something that felt so right be a mistake? But … her thoughts run rampant now. What would the rest of them think? Arianah and Nicessus, who had bore Donegal a child? Panicked, her limbs throw themselves in reverse, her breath exhaled in a mighty snort. Skull weaves from left to right, muzzle shaken violently back and forth. Sightless pools turn from Ankou to Donegal and back again. I-I-I … Her attempt at a response is stuttered, her tongue lying thickly in her mouth, panic clear on her face. I don’t know! I just … I love you so Donegal, but I cannot … I cannot ask you to love me back. You are a king, my king … what would the others think? Every decision of yours regarding me will be judged, picked apart by my herd-mates. Tears begin to roll freely down her dished features, the salty liquid a cold reminder of the truth in her words. Her dial lowers in defeat, barrel shuddering in emotional pain. She was a mess. She had not expected this quiet meeting, out in the boondocks, to be such a rollercoaster of emotions. She takes a few moments to gather her thoughts, eyes downcast, nostrils flared in an effort to bring her breathing under control.
I love you Donegal. I cannot help it. I cannot tell you when it was that I first fell for you. Perhaps it was the first time we met, perhaps the first time I heard your love for your son in your voice. A wavering smile is pressed in Ankou’s direction, love for the yearling clear on her countenance. For a long moment, she holds her tongue, before returning her unseeing gaze to Donegal’s own. This time her voice is much stronger. My love for you is not a mistake, this I know. You will have my heart forever. I do not ask for your love in return, for you have given me much more than I could have ever asked for. I love Ankou as if he were mine, and will treat him as such until the day I die. She longs for his touch, to place her muzzle on his own sinew, to trace his strength with a light caress. Instead, she settles for a few steps closer, once again closing the distance between the two.
|
