mist on the mountain
rising from the ground
A figure could be seen approaching the Bay, cutting through the waves, but mere minutes after Maziel and Zevulun had disappeared from sight. This was no stranger to Tinuvel, but rather someone who had lived here most of his life, and, up until recently, one who had only left the icy island once in his life after first being washed upon the cold and sandy shores as a yearling. Dances With Wolves strode out of the sea, shaking off excess water as he had shaken off his fears not so long ago. He’d said little of his now common absence in the Bay, but if it came up, he certainly wouldn’t hold anything back. Mariael was his Queen, and he would remain loyal to her. She and her siblings were the closest thing he had to family, after the seas and the storms had taken what little else he had.
He approached the young mare now, attentive, and scanning their surrounds. A coil of unease unfurled in his stomach when he saw no sign of Maziel; the two sisters where never far from one another. At least Zevulun wasn’t present – Dances was sure that the spirited colt would be keeping his blind sister company. It was no reflection on Mariael, these sudden unease. In his time, Dances had lost much, and he missed Nephilim more than he could ever say. He’d rather die than let death take any of these precious three. “Mariael,” the painted stallion called, his blue eyes filled with gentle concern, and as he approached, he extended his muzzle to share breaths with his Queen. “Is everything okay?” He knew Mariael well, and as his gaze settled upon her face, a determination settled upon the lines of his body. She was strong, perhaps a little too strong for some. But Dances didn’t want strength right now. He wanted the truth. Anything – that’s what he’d do for her, for all of them. She only need ask.
there’s no denying beauty makes a sound
DANCES WITH WOLVES |