He stood alone near the base of the mountain, feeling like he belonged somewhere for the first time in years. It was a peaceful night, and he was content to be alone. Meeting Áshildr had been good for him, and though he waited still for Jezibelle’s return, he no longer looked for her, at least, not with the same desperation he once had. Impazienza had been about, though he hadn’t seen much of her. He had learned that she held the title of Prime Minister of the Peak, and while Balthazar knew that all were equal here, it seemed that there was much to do, and Impazienza had a lot on her plate. He was beginning to understand the plight of mares, in a way he hadn’t before, and this was one of the many things he chewed on as he stood, lost in thought.
Balthazar stirred at a vague and quiet sound, and glanced toward it, wondering if it might be Impazienza returning, or Áshildr, even, coming to stumble across him as she had only a few days earlier. No figure appeared out of the dark, however, and Balthazar returned to his thoughts. Since his return to the Islands, after meeting Jezibelle, he’d dwelled little on his past, and had turned his attention towards his future. But. But then Black Heart Machine had come down from the top of the mountain, and her voice had taken him back, years and years. He’d seen little of her since, but he knew she was never too far.
The sound came again, closer, and this time Balthazar stood alert, and watched the night. True, he was by no means suited to the role of a border guardian, and by no means did he claim to be as such, but he did happen to be the only one in the immediate vicinity. He felt a fierce love for this place, it had been in his heart all his life, and so it only felt right that he should be wary and protective of this mountain, even if it wasn’t his to protect.
A haggard shape appeared in the dark, and Balthazar felt his chest tighten with apprehension. Another male, his body slick with mud, his mane clumped in dirty strands. The stranger stopped, saw him, and then limped forwards. “Wait, please,” the approaching stallion called, his voice low and rough. “The journey here was long and arduous, and it’s been so long since I’ve had the company of another.” Something in the stranger’s words touched Balthazar, and even encouraged him to take a step forward. He’d known tiredness, loneliness. Now that he was freed from these terrible things, he felt for this other, who suffered them still. “Might I rest a while here?” the question was an innocent one.
Balthazar’s answer set off an avalanche.
By this stage, the dark-skinned male was close, and he reached out towards Balthazar, seeking contact. Balthazar, still a little apprehensive, thought it would be polite to return the gesture, and snorted as the stallion shifted closer, his eyes closed and a kind hoof tipped up as he assumed a posture of rest, their muzzles bumping momentarily, their breath mingling. “I can take you somewhere to rest,” Balthazar said. “But it is not wise for you to linger here.” He shifted, too, and flicked his single ear.
“Am I not welcome here?” Still, the unfamiliar voice was low, and the words remained light, but there was a flicker of something dark and dangerous in the muddied-stallion’s eyes that would have warned Balthazar, had he seen it. With a sharp and sudden movement, the stranger lifted his head, and snorted, his ears flattening as his demeanour transformed into one of hostility.
“No, you’re not.” Balthazar was greatly unsettled by the swift change, and figured a short and simple answer was the best. Now was not the time to dance around and worry about pleasantries. He’d thought that this unknown male was only a mild threat, but he could see now that it was worse. “Just go, please,” he tried to reason. “Anywhere but here.”
He moved with the speed and power comparable to a landslide – wiping out all in its path.
Balthazar half-reared as the stallion came for him, blunt teeth snapping at the air, and flailed his hooves, hoping to force his attacker back. He felt the stallion’s chest ram into his shoulder as he came back down, and struggled to keep his footing. Balthazar’s eyes rolled, and for a moment he lost track of the stallion. There he was, pressed alongside him, nostrils flared and ears pinned. Balthazar retaliated, his teeth the other’s flesh, but quickly turned aside as the stallion came for his face, biting at the tender delicate skin there. Balthazar squealed, and suddenly feared that the stallion would blind him, and leave him completely sightless. The silver and black boy turned away sharply, and bucked, gaining himself a moment’s reprieve as the aggressive intruder backed off.
“Who are you fighting for?” the stallion spat, anger pouring off him in waves. “Who is up there, that you linger in this place not meant for you, and fight to keep me away?” He pawed at the ground, each strike heavy and churning up clumps of earth. “You are nothing, and you will not stop me,” he hissed, and charged, rearing to lash out at Balthazar, their chests meeting briefly so that their heartbeats thudded against each other, and he persisted, pushing the older stallion back and up, kicking and biting, grunting and snorting.
Balthazar squealed and cried out, the sounds high-pitched and desperate, as he struggled to keep the monster advancing too far up the gently increasing slope of the mountain.
balthazar && sandman
i want to feel the way i did back then
before my heart grew cold |