He stands resolute, solid like stone, even as she draws near, brushes her lips along the plane of his cheek. But he is not cold, never that; a monument of petrified wood standing in the sun, something once alive now existing in a new form, a far cry from all that is precious, buried deep in the dank darkness of the earth, gems that glitter in ice-cold rock. But for all that he appears to be, in truth he is carved of limestone and not granite, soft and yielding.

And oh, how he yields to her.

You don’t have to stay. “But I do,” he rumbles, though it is not a harsh sound, nor ominous, like thunder upon the horizon. (It is the sound of water tumbling over rocks, a persistent gentleness that over time wears away even the cutting edges of rock.) “Not because you would keep me by your side, but because my ‘eart, it would condemn me if I were to turn from you.” And when she casts a wary glance down the shoreline, Lafayette flows around her, instinctively seeking to put her further at ease, even if it means placing himself between her and the many dangers he cannot fully comprehend.

“I seek nothing, mademoiselle, only to learn ‘ow I can ease the burden you bear,” the blue roan stallion replies, and he reaches for her, wanting desperately to reassure her with more than just his words. But he does not touch her in return, not now, not yet, his pale lips hover above her skin, the gentle warmth of his exhalation washing over the line of her jaw. “Do you permit it?” he asks, tone even and unassuming, eyes kindly and void of hunger (but in their depths shines a spark of desire, one that he is oh-so-careful to keep contained, because he knows, and he has seen whole forests burn at the touch of an ember left unchecked).

“Tell me what you need, dear one,” he pleads tenderly, still hovering over her like a shadow and a shield. In him dwells a perceptive spirit, one that keeps his sensitive heart company. It is no slip of the tongue, no misunderstanding or slackening in his grasp of the language they share, one that he has learned to speak, rather than the one he was born to. Need, and not want. He knew the difference. He understood. There was no wanting here, not in either of them. What he wanted was to be by Ghislaine’s side once more. What he wanted more than anything, in the long moments of terrible loneliness that dragged him down, was to join all those he’d lost in their peaceful sleep in the waters, but fate had denied him this, and he clung so desperately to life that he could not let go.

What he needed was to survive.

And maybe that was what the spotted amber mare before him needed too. Who was he to deny her what she needed, if he were incapable of giving her what she wanted? Maybe no-one was capable of that. But Lafayette would do what he could to take from that heavy weight she bore on her shoulder, invisible to all the world. Take from it, rather than add to it. Bone-deep sorrow twinged at his heart, but he did not shy from it, or seek to withdraw. Neither did he shy away from her, and his promise to her. He waited, expectant. Warm stone, yielding, leaving traces of himself upon any who touched him.

She blessed him with a gift, and he bowed his head, accepting it with a reverence that did not remain unspoken. “Merci, Chelle,” came the soft murmur of gratitude upon the lull of the wind coming off the sea (soft and yet heavy, acknowledging the gift, sensing a little of how much sharing it meant), and a gentle smile came to rest upon his lips, as his blue eyes trailed the delicate lines of her face. “I am called Faithful. Lafayette. And I promise you, it is no small thing to me.”