don't let the daylight rob your dreams

Her grimace doesn't go unnoticed, the stallion's eyes flickering towards her swollen belly. He takes a slow step forward, nose extended, but Svenja does not move from her spot. She allows him to draw closer until they are mere feet apart. It's the closest they've been in months, and Svenja fights against another shiver. She wants to flinch away from him, to lash out and tell him to get the hell away. Another part of her, smaller but equally strong, is so damn hungry for the attention and company of another after so long without that it will take even this tense and awkward silence over nothing at all.

But any minuscule progress the pair makes is quickly set back when Svenja opens her mouth, the question tumbling rudely from her lips. Irritation flares behind the black stallion's eyes and his ears tilt back, a mirror of her own. She wonders if she's just made a terrible mistake and set a match to what seems to be an easily ignitable temper, her whole body tending under his heated gaze. Will he strike out at her? she wonders, ears pressing further back into her mane. She'd fight back if he did, but something tells her it would be a losing battle on her part, fear flickering inside her gut.

Yet all he does is take a deep breath and shake his head. When he opens his mouth he makes a strangled sort of noise in the back of his throat, an odd croak that catches Svenja off guard. It's like he's trying to speak, or at least make some sort of noise, but his throat fights against him and all that comes out is an odd, gravelly grunt, followed by a cough.

"I see." Suddenly feeling ashamed at her lack of propriety, she ducks her head and tucks her chin to her chest. Her voice lacks the harsh edge it'd had moments before when she says, "That must be difficult for you." Svenja, who'd always been a very vocal creature - whether she be bickering with her mother, offering words of comfort to her son, or shouting joyfully to the wind - couldn't begin to imagine what that would be like. To never be able to say what was on her mind, to have all those thoughts and questions and desires trapped inside her head.

It sounded miserable.

Dark lips part in a heavy sigh and she turns her attention back to him. For the first time Svenja allows herself to truly look at the stallion in front of her and learn the details of his face. He's got strong features, a slight roman nose and striking yellow eyes that stand out like stars against the inky backdrop of his coat. Her eyes linger on his throat, trying to find any signs of scarring or trauma that might explain his silence, but she sees only smooth black fur. If his voice hadn't been taken from him, then, that means he'd never been given one in the first place. Svenja's heart clenches inside her chest at the thought and despite her anger and frustration, she feels bad for him.

It's not an emotion she ever thought she'd feel when it came to him. She still wants to be angry at the fact he's keeping her here, but in the face of this revelation her anger seems to melt away like the last of winter's snows, until she's left with nothing but exhaustion. She doesn't like being angry, or sad, or fearful. She doesn't like feeling as if she has to look over her shoulder every minute. She doesn't like worrying about what will happen if she runs into the black king again. The Bay hasn't felt like home for awhile now and Svenja wonders if part of that is her fault. If she hadn't clung so tightly to the past, had accepted change as it came, things might have been different between she and him during that first meeting on the mountain.

But there's nothing to be done about it now, and she feels silly for wasting her time on what ifs that will never be and dwelling on days long passed by. Silence stretches between them again for another long minute before she breaks it, her voice quieter now.

"I suppose you think I hate you, don't you?" She turns to look him in the eye again, lips curling into a wry half-smile. Up until now he wouldn't have been wrong to think as much. She'd made it clear, after their first encounter, just what she thought of his company. Perhaps not through harsh words or well-placed kicks, but the distance she kept was enough to speak for itself.

She's not sure what compels her to keep talking, to let the words tumble freely from her mouth like rapids over smooth rocks. But she powers onward and tries not to think about what he might be thinking when she says, "I don't. I mean, maybe I do, a little. But I guess I mostly hate myself right now. I was too stubborn to realize things around here were changing and I told myself staying was better than leaving. It's... it's my fault I'm in this mess." Svenja's throat tightens on the last word, tears springing to her eyes and blurring her vision until he's just a dark smudge in her line of sight, nearly consumed by the bright white of the sun above them.

Embarrassed by the sudden flood of emotion, the sabino mare turns her face away from him and look down the opposing stretch of beach, wishing she could let the tide carry her into the horizon.