Falls

A mixture of shock, confusion, and concern mar his features as he can do nothing other than watch the woman submerge herself in the icy pool beneath the Fall’s quake. He knows the water fed from the heart of the mountains above were rarely above freezing, much less now on the cusp on winter with the sun sinking steadily below the horizon. He can only wonder what would drive her to such exploits, and yet as he sifts through the myriad of scents that cling to her barred form wafting over the water there is little left to his imagination. It is a scene he was all too familiar with, albeit from an entirely different perspective, the demon that so often seemed to turn decent men to villains and lesser men to so much worse. His speckled brows furrow as he watches her attempt to wash such history from her body and yet knows she has no hope of succeeding, a part of him thinking he should go and leave her to herself now that such damage had been done and yet. Perhaps he is the patron saint of broken things, for surely he always seemed to attract them perhaps drawn by the siren call of his bleeding heart, but he cannot bear to slip into the relative anonymity the trees around them offer.

There was a time he was guilty of such crimes, not that time could lessen that guilt, but age had given him perspective. Where once he might have seen a wounded mare ripe for his own purposes whatever they may be, now his heart only breaks again and again for many reasons not the least of which is envisioning the possibility that his own daughter could potentially suffer such a fate. Cricket was strong and proud yes, but what was to say that this stranger had not been? No matter what the situation had been she did not deserve to be so broken, no one did. It is this which drives him quietly into the frigid shallows of the pool in which she lingers, attempting to make himself as non-threatening as possible though he knew it would not help much.

As the sound of his rumbling drawl breaks the relative tranquility of the moment she startles and the warmblood visibly winces as she dances away. The vibrant crystal of her eyes wide against the white which showed so readily, fear as well flittering across her features though she fought to hide it. Strong, even in the face of everything she had been through she found strength and he felt respect and an odd hint of pride bloom in his chest. Composing herself his copper ears had to strain to catch the soft words she uttered, his gaze critical against what are lies no doubt, but he would not dispute it allowing her whatever shelter he could in them. “The waters run from the mountains, even in the heart of summer they are barely comfortable.” His tone sympathetic, focusing on the one part of her reply he believed might be true.

What he did not expect, however, was for her to then walk back towards him or perhaps more correctly back towards land though there were many other ways she could have chosen to exit the pool. His body turned to stone beneath that painted hide though he inhaled deeply, the array of scent clinging so potently to her refusing to be ignored. For a moment her confidence seemed to falter once more, that shudder which wracked her body unable to be missed at this proximity, but it was obvious she did not wish to speak of it with him and so he kept his peace on the matter for now at least. As in retaliation from her body’s betrayal her eyes turned fierce and hard as gems as their fathomless blue ricocheted off his own though they are met with nothing but soft, questioning emerald before that strength seems to waver once more. Even now he is mildly surprised at how easily he can suppress his own masculine instincts, knowing what harm had been done to her already more than enough to quell any fire that might have stirred at her seasonal state.

So many questions eat at him as she hastened from the water then, nearly enough that he broke his self-imposed restrictions on the matter, but he could not bear to cause her more pain right now. No, it seemed that as she approached the shore her composure began to crumble again as she fought an internal war, and Bondurant found himself unsure of which side he wanted to win. From this angle he cannot help but examine the wounds which were so fresh on her dark skin, their position and shape all too familiar to indicate anything other than what he had initially suspected, as if scent could lie. There was no time for him to hide such scrutiny as her elegant neck arched suddenly, that delicate face swinging back to face him with hard eyes once more. Such venom suddenly in the words she threw at him quickly followed by a gentle plea as if she were willing to employ any and every tactic known to drive him away.

Though he did not doubt that was exactly her intent he could not bear to leave her in such a vulnerable state, the likelihood that the worst of her shock and the subsequent exhaustion was still to come too dangerous even after all she had been through. Before he could even answer the walls behind which she had been sheltering the remnants of her strength seemed to crumble, the stallion half expecting her body to follow as she trembled like a leaf. Her words were muddled by emotion, anger and sorrow revolving in turns, but he could not have misunderstood them even if they had been in another language. All his worst fears and hers confirmed therein, and just as he did not expect his heart to be able to break any further she offered whatever remained of her body to him in exchange for that solitude she sought as her eyes closed in submission.

Slowly the painted man moved towards the waters edge, his motions nearly exaggerated by making as much noise as was possible plodding up and onto the narrow shore. He kept a wide berth, though a part of him longed to comfort the brindled mare, to use his spotted body as a shield against the world which had made a very solid attempt at breaking her, but he knew that in her current state it would have the opposite effect he intended. Instead he settled himself an easy distance away, his attentive gaze pulling away from her slender body and roaming the deepening shadows of the woods around them instead. A silent guardian, that is what he could be for her now as she wallowed in the aftermath of her mishandling. Bondurant let the moments stretch as long as he could, fighting a war of urges most of which he was far too familiar with, before he broke that silence once more. “I can’t imagine what you are going through, though it is somethin’ no one should be forced to bear.” His teeth clip around the words as finally his large head turns back towards her, those verdant eyes narrowing slightly as they drank in the bright marks across her hindquarters which were somehow highlighted in the fading light. “I can’t change it, I wasn’t there to stop it, but if you want I will make him pay.”

Why would he make such an offer to a stranger, a woman he had no connection to and wanted nothing from? Perhaps it is in retribution for every mare who had been made to bear such abuse, or perhaps it is to atone for similar sins he himself had committed. Regardless there was no falseness in the promise he lay at her feet, no question in his heart that he would act as her hand of justice if she so wished it. He is no shining knight to save the damsal, but darkness of its own kind had uses as well and he was not above utilizing them.