He trembled like a leaf beside her. Irina knew not of the true dangers facing them, thinking this was just another large storm, but the elements around them were shifting so violently around it felt like possibly the biggest one she’d ever experienced. Oh, she was frightened, yes – any flight like that would strike fear into her heart. But she was calm in comparison to the soaked gold stallion squeezing into the crevice beside her. She could practically feel him shuddering beside her, and not of cold. His discomfort unsettled her, and she longed to console him, but he was a stranger yet and she didn’t know if he even wanted the comfort in the first place. Instead of reaching out to touch him, or work the water out of his sopping coat, she simply stood and stared, flashes of lightning illuminating their hideaway every now and then.
They huddled like that for a sizeable stretch of time before she posed her original question, and his honeyed eyes met hers, gaining strength. Rade, he said. It sounded interesting in her head, but she didn’t repeat it, instead filing it into her mind for future reference. She waited for the next, inevitable question, working over answers in her head, but all too soon he was talking again, sending his words – word – to her on the tail of a sharp exhalation. The mare didn’t know how to introduce herself, wondering if she should include her now-defunct title, wondering if she should still call herself O Melhor’s mare or if this stallion now ruled over everything. He may have been simply passing through, unfortunately caught in the snare of the hurricane and forced to hide here with her. He may have other, more important things to do and places to be. He may not really give a shit who she was. In the light of that realization, she figured simpler was better, and when she spoke to him her words were quiet, as if her identity were a scandalous secret she’d soon regret telling.
“Irina,” she said to the ground. “Irina Ivanovna Levanevskaya.” Her full name stumbled over her tongue, the consonants running into each other. The whole thing was completely unnecessary, and he probably thought she was some sort of pompous highborn thing now, but she wanted to do her family justice. Their legacy was dead, but their progeny lived on. However it embarrassed her, she had a duty to hold onto the family name, to keep it shining and bright as her ancestors had. Splattered with mud and rainwater, standing in close quarters with an unknown man, she probably wasn’t living up to her name, but she was trying.
And in that attempt, she knew, there was the obligatory politeness, the desire to be gracious even as the world outside threatened to rip them apart if they ventured into its domain. “Thank you,” she said abruptly, blurting out the words. “For not leaving me back there, I mean. It’s been…” She sighed. “… so long since I’ve seen anyone around here.”
If he hadn’t been there to warn her, where would she be now? The weather does not care for bloodlines and fame. It only wants to destroy. If you fall in its path, it can – and will – destroy you along with it.