Falls

It’s been too long since she’s heard her name spoken with anything but contempt, and the thrill it sends through her is almost as powerful as the thrill of his touch. Exhaling the breath from her lungs in a shaky little sigh, the ivory mare tips her head toward the brush of Suleiman’s muzzle against her neck, her chin lifting briefly from his back. But when the stallion’s lips comb through the tangled strands of her mane with surprising tenderness, she falls back into him, melts into him with that gentle hum. Relishing not only the sights and sounds that have enveloped her, but the sensations. The warmth that shivers across her body even where he hasn’t touched, and the heat that sears her skin where he has. And the sound of his voice above all, the two syllables that are too brief and leave her wanting more. Asking for more in the gentle prompt that she speaks.

As she can hardly confess to the depth of joy something as simple as a warm voice gives her, Ariah tries to focus on not only the sound of her companion’s words, but their meaning. In a way, she even welcomes the curious note of strain that has joined the symphony of his voice; the puzzle of it helps to pull her away from the tide of desire that threatens to sweep her away. Has she made him uncomfortable, stepped over some invisible boundary from inappropriate and into unforgivable? The grey woman nearly pulls away at this fear, but the feeling of his lips curling against her skin and the comment he makes both serve to stay her flight. If he enjoys the cold for the closeness it encourages, then the answer she has reached seems unlikely. Perhaps Suleiman, like her, is only uncertain. Perhaps he, too, is afraid of imposing on the inexplicable tolerance of a stranger.

The way that he pulls away from her seems to confirm that suspicion as truth, and the slender mare is quick to jerk her own head upright and away to give him space. It leaves the parts of her that had been pressed against him feeling cold and sets her chest to aching, but it’s a small enough price to pay if it means that he will stay. And he does, his shoulder still brushing lightly against her ribs and his jade-green gaze finding hers, its intensity holding her more effectively than any embrace. Ariah could lose herself in those eyes and for a moment she does, tumbling in a way that twists her fluttering stomach into knots. She feels compelled to say something— to express the gratitude she feels for his company and kindness— but that emotion is so entangled with other, less-comprehensible things that she can’t. Not without asking more of him than she can bring herself to ask, even in the most-selfish of moments.

Ariah. The syllables of her voice are less soft now, spoken by a voice that is roughened by— regret? Need? Then it breaks, shattering sentences into fragments that the pale creature can’t possibly understand. Would you, and the curve of his muzzle buries itself into her back, breathing raggedly into the snow-white skin. Will you, and it fades again, swallowed by the forest’s silence. Ears tipping outward, it is all that Ariah can do but to keep her lips pressed together against the yes that aches to be spoken. Because no matter what he might ask of her, she will give it, she will, for what Suleiman has given her. Hope and happiness, however fleeting, and— and—

Oh. This time, the brush of his lips is different, desperate somehow. And the way that Ariah leans into it is desperate too, an unspoken answer that is echoed by her whisper. “Yes,” she breathes, giving herself to her companion in whatever way that he needs. In whatever way that he will have her, and for however long.

It’s been too long since anyone has needed her, and she cannot help but offer everything to keep the joy of that need alive.