e n c a n t a d o r
Something had been bothering him since his reunion with El Aran and Daenerys, and it was not the obvious thing (that he might not ever see them again). He had been half-blind at the time, too self-absorbed in his own grief and shock at seeing the mares again to even notice. But now that he thought back... the memories haunted him day after day. He remembered how subtly different she had looked, as if she'd seemed far older than she actually was. Had it been the pain in her eyes? The weariness? Had it been the scars? The dishevelled mane? The faint scent of another male, another herd, another life on her?
For a long while, he was alone in the desert with only his thoughts for his company. Even so, he almost didn't want to face the truth they hinted at.
He was still thin, but not gaunt anymore, thankfully. His coat had lightened even more, bleached by the relentless desert sun to a pale, creamy white, and his body had begun to adjust to the extreme climate he lived in. His winter coat had long since fallen out, though a few furry tufts still clung here and there, making him look almost comically mismatched, and when he could he chewed at them, for they itched ferociously. He had no one to look nice for, however. With only the prospect of a couple other stallions living here as his subordinates, Encantador had only the sun-baked earth, the sand, the sky, and the sun as his company. And the occasional lizard or scorpion.
He had ventured away from the oasis where he spent most of his time, and was standing at the ocean's edge, his hooves sinking in the wet mud, watching the vast blue horizon as though hoping he might see something, anything to give him hope, as though someone he knew and cared about might appear in the waves at any moment. It was only when the salty breeze shifted, sending a dry wind from inland to rustle his mane, that Encantador caught the scent. It was faint, almost imperceptible, and yet it was there: and he recognized it. A thrill of anxiety and disbelief seized him, but he was not in the mood for guessing games: he pivoted on his heels and went reeling away across the flat landscape, chasing the scent before it could elude him yet again.
When he saw her, standing there, waiting for him, her bi-colored form a mere silhouette in the shade of a rocky outcrop, his heart stopped and he felt faint for the briefest of moments. She hadn't even called out to him, as though she belonged already. Oh Dany, ever so humble. He was sweating by the time he reached her, partially from his exertion in the sweltering heat, partly from his excitement, but he cared little for anything else but the sight of her. "Dany!" he cried, his voice squeaking in a rather unmasculine manner, and slowed to reach out his neck and caress her cheek. It was then that his eyes caught sight of something, something larger than it should have been, and stopped him in place. He pulled away and eyed her from head to toe, trembling with anticipation.
"Dany. What... happened?" As if he didn't already know. She was full to bursting, which meant she'd been pregnant when they'd met before. Why hadn't she said anything? Why hadn't he noticed? A coldness washed over his skin, and he took a step backward, his ashen lips parted, his ears twisted back. He didn't want to believe.
el barroco x writhe | four | dunskin | 15.1 | mustang | shiva |