I would honestly love you now,
But I would lovingly let you down.
His crystal blue eyes glazed over, held half open, as he listened to the pitter-patter of the rain against the land. The stallion rested with one hind ankle cocked high, and his barrel pressed against the trunk of an old tree, sheltered somewhat by the onslaught of the storm. The swell of the rain grew stronger with every passing minute. As he watched the rich purple clouds roll in overnight, quickly shielding the burning stars from view, Jabari briefly considered seeking refuge in this new land the locals here called the "Ruins," a place he did not recognize, even though he too, was a native. He'd spent some time there in the early days of his return to the isles, perplexed but intrigued by the emergence of these red-rock boulders and caverns. A cave was appealing now, as the storm continued to gain over the commons and the meadow, soaking the ground and cleansing everything around it.
But Jabari did not budge. Instead, the painted stallion found some sense of solace in the rain. Its song drifted in one soaken chestnut ear and out the other, lulling him into an eerily relaxed state. He welcomed it, for what it was worth.
Plumes of steam rolled off his haunches where the cool water met his warm hide. He twitched occasionally at his withers when a chill from the moisture penetrated him enough to warrant a short response. But otherwise he stood solemnly, his brown mane heavy and matted against his two-toned neck. The commons looked nothing like the Prairie or Luthien, really. But the passing thunderstorm struck him with a strong wave of nostalgia for his nearby home.
The herd used to instinctively gather in the low-lying valleys during storms. With no real sense of shelter, they relied on each other in the monsoon months. It was a comfort he'd taken for granted, and one his heart longed for now. His pink lips, dripping wet, parted now as he breathed a heavy sigh, and shifted his weight evenly over his four white legs.
A clap of thunder overhead, followed by a snap of bright lightning caused Jabari to lift his head high over his withers. He blinked in quick succession, stirring from his more relaxed state. That's when he saw her - the pale, spotted form of a young mare standing proudly in the open pasture, staring up at the turbulence of the storm. Jabari watched her for some time, noticing the way she shivered in the cool rain. She stood defiantly almost, in the middle of the storm, despite its angry threats. Only when it finally began to give way, and the rain's hard press lightened to a gentle drizzle, did she give up her hard stance and begin to graze.
Jabari's heart thumped loudly in his chest for a few minutes at the sight of her. He imagined the sight of anyone would elicit such a longing in his lonely soul. And with another deep breath, the painted stallion emerged from the small wooded area he'd found refuge in, and stumbled closer. He held his head low, his muzzle in line with his knees, as his blue-eyed gaze bounced from her to the grass between his hooves. He nickered lowly to her once he was within earshot, but no words followed. Instead he dropped his head to the grass, his hooves sinking slightly into the moist earth post-storm. His soaken brown tail swung at his flanks with a soft, wet 'thwap.' And he ate, just like he would among family back home.
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