i'm laying down, eating snow. my fur is hot, my tongue is cold.Her soft and gentle voice caresses his ears, her voice painting a picture for his mind's eye. He can see it clearly in his head, just as she is describing it: a sea of gold stretching out before him, vast and neverending. One clear blue eye settles upon Larka's face as she shifts her gaze away from him, into the distance. He knows that look well, it is the look of someone remembering a home long left behind. He takes the time to memorize the clean lines of her face, committing her appearance to memory. Part of him wonders why she would ever leave such a beautiful-sounding place, and he nearly asks, but fear of sounding rude stays his lips. Instead, he simply smiles, a close-lipped smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes. "It sounds wonderful." Is his only reply, until she speaks again. The low tone of her voice does not go unnoticed to him.
"I don't live anywhere," he says, hoping his words will not draw sympathy from the sylph-like woman before him. He doesn't want her to feel sorry for him, he only wishes to provide her with the truth. He elaborates a little further, hoping it may further their conversation a bit. "I used to live in the Desert, under a queen named Evren. She was my..." he pauses, only briefly, the words becoming lost on him, "friend." It hardly seemed the best word to describe his relationship to the younger woman, but it was the only one he could think to use. After the single encounter they had shared, they had never pushed the boundaries of their relationship beyond more than a platonic level. He had never minded the lack of physical affection from the mother of his only child; it was the company she provided that he wanted more.
And for all those months, she had given it to him. As her belly swelled and the seasons turned, he had stayed faithfully by Evren's side. The night she had given birth, he had paced anxiously, waiting for her to beckon him to her side. When she did, he didn't need his sight to tell him something was wrong. The tone of her voice had told him all he'd needed to know before he'd ever set eye on the little filly's body. How could this happen? he had wondered, had shouted to the sky and the sea once his legs had carried him as far as he could go. Of course the heavens had given no answer.
Mikhail pushed the thought away with little more than a subtle, annoyed twitch of his tail. He was tired of dwelling on the past. "What about you? Have you a destination in mind, or are you a wanderer like myself?" He hopes his question won't be considered an invasion of privacy, or poorly-disguised attempt at gaining a hand over any errant stallions nearby. No, he doesn't want to claim her for his own (although perhaps a small voice deep in his mind might disagree), he simply wants to know if she is like him - content to let the wind take her where it pleases, or unwilling to leave her fate in the hands of the world.
on a bed of spiderweb, i think of how to change myself.
the blind bay tobiano son of felony and zhenya. |