"when there are no words,
and everything hurts…"
The tears on her face serve to break the banks within Dalibor that he has spent his whole life building up, in a futile attempt to stem the flow of his anguish. And so, it is in vain that he reaches to dry the face of the mare who has reached deeper into his heart than any other living soul. He weeps, too, openly and without fear of being judged. Their tears mingled upon one another’s skin. As she curls into his embrace, Dalibor endeavours to gather her close, and wraps himself around her as though he never intends to let go.
It hurts, she says, and Dalibor groans in anguish, a sound of recognition that heals and breaks his heart all at once. She knew.
She knew. Yes, he wanted to say. Felt the words burning in his throat, cursed as he was by silence.
Everything hurts.
This shared truth was a fire in their very bones.
It’d been killing them slowly ever since the days of their births. But in their closeness they burned together, and rather than consuming one another in in flame, or filling the lungs of one another with acrid smoke it was as though being near this mare starved Dalibor’s fire of oxygen, and maybe he starved hers. Nothing had ever felt so freeing, and the beauty of the proverbial embers smouldering within him were perfect in their tragic beauty. He breathes deep and slow to gentle the shuddering of his aching lungs, silencing one last sob with lips pressed to his midnight angel’s shoulder.
When she eventually withdraws, head held low,
thanking him even as his heart is overcome with the desire to express gratitude to her, Dalibor reaches again gently. Twists his neck and tucks his tear-damp muzzle ‘neath her chin, and encourages her softly and silently to raise her head, to tip her face to the sky. She is resplendent in his heartwood eyes. The stars are cold and distant, transient, and Dalibor would show them true beauty, warm and real and close. Through the haze of sorrow there is a brightness gleaming in his eyes. She has made a ruin of him, a wonder. Though forever charred, he is no longer burning, and has the hope of being something
more than just fire and smoke and ash.
A small miracle, one that he will cherish all the days of his life.
With the softest of sighs, he traces the lines of her face again, all traces of their sorrow (diluted by one another) already beginning to dry. A gentle snort is issued as he withdraws, and tilts his head, indicating a space between the trees not far. Though he had not walked this path before, he had faith it would lead him to where he wanted to go. But he would not leave without the mare, and would wait for her, stay with her, follow her wherever she went. Though they’d only just met, it was clear to Dalibor that they were as twin souls, and he realises in this moment of waiting (of hoping), that he would do anything to protect her, to keep the pain that resonated through the both of them at bay.