dances with wolves
let me come closer, i’m not your shadow
Echoes came back quickly, and Dances listened carefully, and a small burden was lifted from his shoulders. There was order here, and Guadalupe says that order was an important part of figuring out where you belonged. ‘But Lupe, you don’t belong anywhere.’ He remembered the look in her eyes when he’d said that, a tired kind of happiness. There was a bittersweet bite to her words when she had replied. ‘Aye, Dances. That is because I choose to live without order. Because when you don’t belong anywhere, you’re free to go everywhere.’ The sadness in her eyes had frightened him, and he was not one easily frightened. ‘Who would want that kind of life?’ Lupe had answered him with silence. And silence settled on him now, as the echoes of order faded in the frigid air around the painted colt. It was suffocating, and it pressed down on him, so that he struggled to breath.
He watched, blue eyes wide and trying their best to focus, as a pale figure appeared and closed the distance between them with single-minded determination. There was little doubt in Dances With Wolves’ mind that this was the one who had answered his call, and as the stallion approached, Dances squealed in greeting, and when the male stopped in front of him, Dances saw that his coat was like the night sky, but instead of sparks of light in darkness, he was brilliant and blinding – drop of pale golden morning light on a base so pure and so unlike everything he was used to. Up until now, Guadalupe had been his shadow, and after the cold, the silence, this stranger became his beacon.
Dances dipped his muzzle, and his tongue slipped between his teeth and licked at the air, before working his jaw, chewing on nothing as he stood before the stranger, uncertain of himself in a way he’d never been uncertain before. “Th-Thank you,” he said, the gratefulness he felt towards this stranger overflowing in his words. He flicked an ear at the question, and looked out to the sea, recalling the sensation of feeling completely helpless among the waves. “I was trying… My mother left the Crossing… Headed for the furthest of the isles.” He didn’t understand how she did it – he’d felt so… Lost when he’d been in the sea. No order… He hadn’t belonged there… And yet, his mother had been so keen to take to the sea, as if she’d lost a part of her, being tied to the Crossing, being tied to him.
“I tried to follow her, but I’ve never been in the sea before.” He turned back to look at the young stallion, shuffled his gangly legs awkwardly, and when he spoke again, his voice took on a sheepish tone. “I guess it was kind of stupid to try for the first time, alone, in the middle of winter, huh?” Dances sighed softly, and lowered his gaze. “I just… Didn’t want to be left behind. I mean, I’ve spent a lot of time by myself, but… She was always there.” He shook his head, and wrinkled his nose. “Anyway, doesn’t matter now. Um. I am Dances With Wolves, but you can just call me Dances, or… Wolf. Strange, I know. Maybe later I’ll tell you the story. And who, er, I mean, What is your name?” A small, but certain smile tugged at the corners of his lips. “Is there… Somewhere a little more sheltered close-by. I won’t be any trouble, and I’ll leave in the morning if you want.” And this time, he looked inland, because he didn’t want the other to see the fear in his eyes – the fear he felt for the sea, and the vastness of it, ever-changing and untameable. He was afraid of losing his mother to the sea, and with her, all he’d ever known.
It wasn't that he thought his mother would drown... He had seen the longing in her eyes, and the way in which she had charged headlong into the salty waves. What if... What if she just kept going, got lost in the nothingness and being an unbelonger that relished in her freedom. Did she long for the day she left these islands, and with them, all that chained her to them? Is that what she dreamed of, those nights she slept well, of leaving him behind, as she had left others behind, long before him.
But... What good was it, dwelling on things that might be? He was alive - the sea hadn't claimed him, though it had tried its best. After some rest, no doubt he'd be in better spirits. Already the biting wind was calling to him. If he was given a chance, he'd explore what little he was able. That was what he loved - discovering new things for himself. Names. They were, in general, a good place to start, or so Lupe always said.
“What is it about this place, the Bay, that drew one like you – one who has been touched by the sun?”
with our eyes shielding us from oncoming counts
it’s not hard for us to say what we should not |