Time passes in a haze for Kune. As the days grow long and warm, he follows Božena diligently with one eye on her and one eye on their surroundings. The Strážce ways are hard to shake, but after spending so long alone in a fog of depression, it is somewhat of an effort to fall into them again. Every night as he falls asleep he has to remind himself that it is not just his hide he must look after now: that he must wake at every small noise in the dark to make certain they have not been stalked or ambushed. Of course, these are the instincts every horse has, but as a Strážce, they are heightened by a sense of duty, and structured by the decorum of tradition: the willingness to step in harm's way to protect another. The bittersweet memories of what Kune once was simultaneously haunt him and push him onward, giving him a reason to be his best for Božena.
Yet, more often than not, Kune finds himself distracted by the presence of Božena herself. Though the stallions and mares of Kune's old herd did mix in a very limited way, the Strážce were entirely male, and so the vast majority of the time Kune did not come into close proximity with mares that were not immediate family. Kune can remember how the first time he had met Božena he had been struck by how she carried herself like a Moudrost, a Wisdom - who were the spiritual leaders of the herd - yet now he sees something else in her: a lack of certainty and something like shyness, written in her posture and nervous, darting glances. Even when she speaks Kune notices the almost passive language she uses. It makes decision-making awkward, what with him having little opinion of where they should go or what they should do. All he knows is that he would follow Božena to the ends of the earth.
So when Božena suggests the Peak, Kune agrees without question, though internally he wonders what place he will have in what is supposed to be a sanctuary for mares. Surely they would not force him and Božena apart? The thought digs into the pit of his stomach as the mountain looms into view, grey with a cap of melting white: a stark outline against the sky. It reminds Kune of the holy mountain of his homeland, which had been forbidden for any stallion to visit. The memory only worsens the tension of unease in Kune's throat, but his expression remains cool and collected when Božena suggests they climb higher.
"Lead the way," he replies with a gracious dip of his huge head, and squints into the sunlight at the slopes before them. Though the mountain is nowhere near as large or steep as the holy mountain of his homeland, Kune is not an accomplished climber, and sweat already prickles between his legs.
8; kladruber; black; 17.2hh
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