Desert

A few hours become a day, then two, and then a few. Each morning Chelle wakes with a purpose in her mind and the apologies she's rehearsed on her lips. And each morning, she forsakes the civility and compliance of her upbringing to roam Cain's Desert. For a creature who has known nothing but the chains of duty and demand, freedom is a siren's song that she is powerless to deny. With pinned ears and wild, white-rimmed eyes, the cinnamon girl runs for the simple joy of feeling her heart thunder and her breath catch in her throat, and feels her burdens scatter to the winds left in her wake. Memories, worries, responsibilities- everything that might serve to shackle her again- fall away from her, leaving her more a child now than she'd ever been in her youth.

But even the childlike abandonment of her cares cannot last forever. The sun burned brighter and hotter than it had ever done in her homeland, and there was not a single wisp of cloud in the sky to shield her from its relentless glare. Sweat-dampened and breathless, the amber tobiano is finally driven back to the sanctuary of the oasis by the stifling heat. And it is there- cresting the final dune that separates sand from grass- that she quite literally bumps into the black-and-white stallion whose kindness has granted her this home and freedom. An act of generosity that Chelle has repaid with nothing but indifference and neglect. Flushing, her pale green eyes skim Cain's face only briefly before they fall to the tawny sand at his hooves, their lively flicker yielding to a shadow of shame.

"Cain," the freckled mare begins, pausing for a beat to wonder at the little flutter her heart gives with that single syllable. It is a curious glow of warmth amidst the cold truth of her ingratitude- and gives her the courage to press on, lifting her eyes to meet his and forcing her lips to form the words she should've spoken days ago. "I - I;'m sorry. I should have come to see you sooner. I meant to speak to you again, after you brought me here that day. Only-" The volume of her voice fades, like the whisper of a wave being drawn back out to sea. But then- seeing the reflection of herself in the stallion-s deep brown eyes, seeing the meek, downtrodden creature she'd been before Judas-she is awakened, uncurling to stand straight and tall beside her companion.

"No," she corrects herself suddenly, harshly, tossing her head as if to banish the irksome pest of her ingrained docility. "That's not what I meant to say- not truly. What I meant to say was thank you, Cain. Thank you for giving me what I needed- for giving me a home, and the freedom to recognize that this isn't just what I need- it's also what I want." A gentle sweep of her muzzle encompasses everything: the desert, the herd that grazes below them, the scarred figure of the piebald male. Leaning gently against Cain, she touches the curve of her muzzle briefly to his in a gesture that speaks more eloquently than her words. It is both an apology and an offer of friendship- and a subtle, unspoken promise. Not a pledge to be irrevocably his- her heart is still too uncertain to consider such a future- but a promise to try.

Ironically enough, it has taken freedom to open Chelle's eyes to the possibility that she might someday welcome such shackles willingly.