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Tandava. Her captor, her dancer, her partner. She blinked at him, pernicious thoughts behind her dark eyes as she imagined what such a word implied—partner. He was no enigma; he was not like Rille. His footfalls, well-placed nips, all of him—right down to his matching heritage—was exactly as she expected, and Pilar ultimately found this comforting. She did not want to think of Rille now, nor how he might respond to her decision to steal away from the Thicket in the middle of the night to have an affair with some far-flung stranger.
Was it even an affair? Rille was not the sort to view her as a possession, though she was undoubtedly under his protection. Did that come with some sort of unspoken oath then? Should Pilar remain chaste in exchange for the security the large stallion offered? Was her body the price for residence within his home? She snorted, bringing her wandering thoughts back to the present as she realized that Tandava had asked her a question of his own, and that she had perhaps let his inquiry linger unanswered for a moment too long.
“Ahhmm,” she replied, pawing the sand at her feet as if she could bury her anxieties deep within it. “I’m no dancer,” she admitted, somewhat sheepishly. “But it is good to share your company.”
She stepped closer to him, folding her smaller, mahogany-brown frame neatly alongside his. Pilar let herself linger there for a moment before without thinking, she leapt a single length in front of him and stopped, looking back over her shoulder at the man who stood at her back. Her eyes smoldered as she snapped her stark black tail once or twice more, a subtle demand for the satisfaction he had spoken of, lest her anxiety get the better of her and she decided it best to dash away once more.
pilar
all I am is meant to bleed and bloom
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