covering the trail we crossed
higher than the things we've lost
Dances With Wolves found his courage again.
It washed up on the sand, between his hooves, as he watched Nephilim forge for himself a way through the waters. He had spent only a short time in the Bay with the young stallion, and they hadn’t spoken much, for neither of them was inclined to break silence for the sake of hearing their own voice. Dances was moved by the spotted male, not so much older than he, and yet, more alone in this world than any other he had met. It made his heart ache deep, and he wondered a lot, late at night, and in the middle of the day when the world seemed to stand still. He knew little, and he felt much.
Luthien. The island that Guadalupe had headed for, leaving her son on the Crossing. Nephilim had spoken its name with a heaviness, and privately, Dances had wondered why. He had wanted to ask if there was something bad about the island, because maybe he should go and bring Guadalupe away, somewhere safer, but… He had asked instead about the Bay, remembering the flicker of negativity he’d seen on Nephilim’s face when speaking about the far isle.
The water was pulling at him, the way it had done when he’d struggled over here alone. Fear of the water had kept him here, and yet, it hadn’t felt like a prison, the way places seemed to feel for Guadalupe, when she lingered in them too long. Dances felt safe here, but more than that, he no longer felt alone. He couldn’t be certain, but Dances thought that in some way, Nephilim could empathise with him, though he did not know why. But he had been kind enough to allow the young bay paint to stay, and for that, Dances would forever be grateful. And now, watching Nephilim’s pale figure grow smaller, the growing colt relented to the tug of the waves, and followed doggedly after the spotted stallion.
His fear of the water was forgotten, overshadowed by the fear that he may well end up angering Nephilim, displeasing him by following, after all the stallion had done for him But greater than these fears was the fear of letting Nephilim down, of letting him struggle against a difficulty alone. If loss of freedom was the thing that threatened to smother Guadalupe’s spark, it was loneliness that threatened to douse the spirit of Dances With Wolves. And as he did his best not to lose sight of Nephilim in the distance, all the two-toned colt could think about was dark and light. About two figures who were both of these – complete opposites. A shadow and a beacon. One who left him behind, so that she could satisfy her own desires, and one who welcomes him, even though Dances had nothing to give but himself. Is that it? Was he not enough for her?
He almost turned back, for the sea was large, and he was no longer so eager to see Guadalupe, the ache of her abandonment, as he remembered it from the shore of the Crossing, twisted like a knife and made him gasp for breath. But then, he remembered why he was in the water, and he continued on, determined to be there for the one who hadn’t turned his back on him.
--------
Whatever Dances had expected, it wasn’t this. A number had gathered – the young watched on from the sidelines as three converged on Nephilim where he stood in the shallow river. And despite the fact that Dances had only known the other a short time, his heart was beating in his throat as he witnessed the other, older stallion snap and shove Nephilim. Before he knew what he was doing, Dances With Wolves approached, ears pinned, breathing raggedly as he made his way up the opposite bank of the river, and then splashed to Nephilim’s side. He reared on trembling legs, his footing precarious and the whites of his eyes showing as he rolled them. If anyone came for Nephilim again, they’d have Dances to reckon with, though, being so young still, and clearly uncertain, maybe that was not so much a treat as it was a joke. Still, he was by Nephilim’s side, and he would not leave it, and in his heart, at least, that counted for something.
“Dances!? What are you doing?!”
The bay and white boy jerked his head at the sound of the familiar voice, and his eyes darted to both mares on the bank, and saw no other figure along with them. Movement in the thin belt of trees to his right, a dark shadow, with two red foals at her heels. It was too much for him – he couldn’t stop the tremble that started in his chest, and took hold of his shoulders, his legs. This was why she had left him? He half-watched as she ushered the two red-coated foals behind her. They were so tiny, still, and she hid them behind her, like she was afraid that he, he and Nephilim would hurt them.
Ears still hidden in his black and white mane, he turns, sensing one closing in, and snaps again, and his eyes are bright and hard. He is glad that he came, no matter what happens afterwards. Because no one should be alone, especially in the face of danger. Guadalupe calls out to him again, but Dances With Wolves will not look at her. He knows, now, that there is nothing for him here. And he remembers that it was a stranger who eased the ache in his heart, and that his own mother had put it there. He would stay, until Nephilim left, and then, well… He didn’t know where he would go. But he would not be returning here. He knew little, and he felt much. He did not know why there was this fighting, if it was defensive and justifiable. But that didn’t matter to Dances. All he knew was that his mother had left him for this place, and its inhabitants, and they were attacking the one who had sheltered him, gone out of his way for him.
With Nephilim he would stand and defend, and he would not leave, unless they left together. And young though he was, Dances With Wolves had a lot of fight in him, and he was fierce in his loyalty. That was how he’d found his name, months ago, when he’d chased off a lone, young wolf who had set its hungry eyes upon Guadalupe.
But this time, it was no wolf he faced, and his mother, it seemed was one of the number who stood against him. Dances flicked his tail, tucking his chin and glancing Nephilim’s way. There was so much that he wanted to say, but now was not the time, and even if it was, he didn’t think he’d be able to talk. His heart was still beating wildly in his chest, and his blood ran hot, so that his skin prickled with anticipation and the drying saltwater. Aside from the once, he’d never found himself in a confrontation like this, and he was scared. He couldn’t turn back, just like he hadn’t in the sea. He couldn’t leave Nephilim to face this alone. Some would call it bravery. But Dances knew different.
His heart told him that he had only come because he didn’t want to be alone, and for no other reason. It filled him with shame when nothing he thought of could change the words. You are a disgrace, and that is why… It was relentless, like the waves of the sea, and standing beside Nephilim, Dances struggled to keep himself from going under.
looking down the dragon’s mouth
I’LL NEVER LET YOU HIT THE GROUND |