It is just the gods, he said, and the air rushed from Marceline's nose in a skeptical snort. If gods existed why had they allowed these awful things to happen to her? Why had they taken her home, her family, her title from her? Allowed her to fall pregnant when she had no sense of stability? It had been one thing, raising a child with the support of her mother and father (oh how delighted mother had been to receive a grandchild at last) but this — this felt impossible.
Still... where the gods had been capricious, they'd also afforded her small favors. Finding these islands was one of them. Now it was beginning to feel like meeting this stallion might be one too. He was quite kind, and if not for him she'd be stuck in that torrent, shivering against the cold and putting herself at risk for illness, or worse. But his little quip about stepping back out received no smiles or laughs from her. Instead she shot him a sour look, though the warm brush of his nose against her shoulder almost had her leaning closer, craving more heat on this damp autumn day. Marceline's pale lip curled in contempt, though there was no actual malice to her expression. "No thank you," she said firmly, giving a haughty toss of her damp forelock. "I'd rather sleep in this hovel for a week than go back out in that."
When asked about how he found this particular cave, the unnamed stallion provided a simple yet surprisingly... wholesome, explanation.
"Oh," she said, turning her face away and gazing out into the storm-soaked forest. It almost felt like she was invading a private space now, standing somewhere she didn't belong. For a fleeting moment, embarrassment gnawed hotly at the tips of her ears and the skin of her cheeks. It wasn't very kind of her to call it a hovel, but there was no use trying to take the words back and so she just shifted uncomfortably in her spot, amber eyes falling to the ground briefly before flicking to his face. This time, it was her who reached out, brushing her nose against his neck. "I thank you for showing me. It has been good to get out of the storm."
When he asked who she was running from, Marceline's ears nearly disappeared into the crimson tangle of her mane. The last stallion she wanted to be thinking about was that one. So she said, hotly, "he's no one important. Just some man I made the mistake of giving myself to for a night, only to find out now I've been burdened with his child for a lifetime." Her tone was petulant and there was a venomous sneer tainting her expression.
Eager to not think about how infuriatingly hopeless she felt, Marceline shifted at his side and asked, "what do you call yourself, Peak Stallion? We have been so busy hiding from this storm you do not tell me your name or what you are doing out here." |