I love you more in my head
but I’ll love you better when I’m dead
⬡ ⬡ ⬡
Naydra’s focus falls on the careful placement of the grey mare’s body. There is thought put into her movements, and the way she rests, as though relaxed. The coal-black mare’s interest in Lourdes begins to strengthen as she realizes the calculations the other mare puts into her body language.
Perhaps they are more alike than she had thought.
Lourdes gives Naydra the impression of clay as the two stand in the frigid clearing. She warms, and softens — physically, if not mentally. It comes as no surprise that she is as tired as she lets on.
There is a noticeable reaction from the grey mare at Naydra’s question, and the silver-black scowls inwardly at this mistake. I’ve pushed too hard, she thinks. Conversation, and information, are a dance; an art form. Tread carelessly, and one might lose the cooperation of their partner.
But Lourdes does not break from the dance as Naydra expects. The black has pushed (shoved, really) but the grey responds with flexibility. She moves away, to be sure, but she is not out of reach — and still she indulges Naydra.
Shall we?
The silver-black’s attention shifts. The grey mare is no longer just a trinket that Naydra wishes to possess, but something substantially more valuable. There are secrets beneath the stormy exterior, and an intelligent creature who guards them.
Fascinating.
Naydra does not bother to ask are you sure about the swim to Luthien. If Lourdes was not ready, she would not have prompted. Naydra follows her single seaward step, steeling herself for the bitter waves.
“We shall.”
Naydra
mare. 16hh. silver black. rougaru x visurix.
