Everyone has something they fear - glowing eyes in the black shadows of their subconscious - something they try to bury, but the bones are always there. She can see them - the bones - poison mushroom caps blooming from the marrow. She is afraid, but her breath does not rattle in her lungs. The whites of her eyes stay hidden behind the darkness of her eyelids. She is afraid, but not of him. Not yet.
She studies him - takes apart the breath he has given her and tries to find a shred of who he is. His mane glows red in the waning light. She thinks of fire - the kind that creeps up the mountain side in the depths of night - distant, but still dangerous.
He smolders next to her, and she can feel his heat ready to engulf her as soon as his curiosity suffocates and base instincts raze any sort of civility.
He asks her if she is looking for a home, and the question stirs her uncertainty even more.
She is no stranger to the way things work on the Islands. Most horses are drawn to one another. They comfort one another and form a sense of security when they gather together. She remembers feeling safe in the Inlet with Rodion and Koschei to watch over her and the others. He had plucked her from the Meadow like a spring flower and placed her somewhere she couldn’t be trampled, but also somewhere she couldn’t grow.
With a gentle toss of her head she adjusts her forelock from her eyes. She can’t answer him. Even if the words could make it past her lips, she simply wouldn’t know what she wanted. She shrugs and looks down shyly - a first glimpse of weakness revealed to dripping teeth.
She turns away from him and takes a few steps along the treeline before turning to motion for him to follow if he wants. Perhaps a walk to Tinuvel would do her some good.
lyrae.
mute daughter of chronic & verse |
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