Falls

I know.

- - - - - -

In the beginning, the pale filly counts the moments that they share, certain that each will be their last. In the beginning, Tabaxi is afraid to let sleep claim her, lest she wake up cold and alone. In the beginning, she even holds herself distant from the abrasive boy as best as she can manage; tries to protect the fragile box of her heart. But in the end— in the end, she opens it to him anyway. In the end, every precaution and doubt (every one of the walls she’d erected) fall away, and the spotted Marwari embraces the surly youth as the family that she’s both lost and forgotten.

And begins to glimpse the softness that Nuka’s sharp edges conceal.

Bloody wind howlin’ all nigh’. Even before she uncurls, the leopard-child can see her companion’s scowl and the anger that darkens his pale eyes. Though it ebbs and flows in the same way as the ocean’s tides, the young stallion is always angry. It’s like— like hatred is some weed that’s taken root in the soil of his heart, strangling everything else until it’s all that's left. Some days, Tabaxi isn’t even certain that he likes her, and she’s never considered the question of love. But whatever this thing that they have is— it doesn’t seem to need either. They've taken care of one another, sharing warmth at night and watching each other’s backs when they drink or graze. They've made each other braver in the darkness and bolder in the light.

They’ve even made each other better in some ways, like the way she’s learning to trade her curiosity for wariness. Or the way he’s starting to seek solitude when the storm of his anger breaks through the dark, sullen clouds. Such as now. M goin’ fer a walk. D’know when I’ll be back. Still laying in the warm nest Nuka has abandoned, the girl offers nothing but silence in answer. A year has taught her that there isn’t anything she can say that will keep the umber male beside her. Not when he’s already decided to go. It’s better to let him stalk off and snarl his bitterness at the world somewhere else, even if Tabaxi worries that the next time he walks away might be the last. That he might finally hold to the promise he’d made seasons ago, and leave her lingering here in uncertainty and grief.

Regardless of these passing storms, she doesn’t want to lose the lion-boy. He’s all that she has… and she’s all that he has, too.

Hey, Tabaxi? The slender yearling’s eyes flick towards the source of that too-soft voice, brimming with uncertainty and hope. And standing stiff and slightly-hunched only a few steps away, for a moment she might have glimpsed the same things in Nuka’s flint-grey eyes. Y’wanna come? Taken aback by the sudden absence of swirling storm-clouds, the shaman’s child is slow to answer; slow to understand. Blinking stupidly, she can only stare at the sable stallion until he hastily amends his words. I c’n wait, go later, if y’don’t wan’ ta go now. A flutter stirs somewhere in the bone cage of her breast, and Tabaxi does what she can to still it. It doesn’t mean anything that he wants her to come with; it doesn’t.

“Nah, ‘m comin’.” Her voice is still soft and kind, but over seasons the girl has adopted the rougher cadence of her companion’s speech. Untangling her legs slowly, she winces at the sharp ache in her joints, echoing him briefly in the harsh lines of her expression too. “ ‘m just a bit slow. Cold’s got everythin’ all buggered.” But as much as might echo the boy during these moments, Tabaxi has never mastered the art of staying mad. As soon as motion loosens the stiffness of her strides, she bounces along as contentedly as ever, tucking herself beside (but not touching, never touching except when they curl together each night to sleep) the taller body.

Where’re we goin’ t’day? The meadow or the mountain? The filly’s dark ears curl forward, their tips brushing one another gently as she appears to consider. But it’s never been a choice; not for her. Not since falling into the boy’s reluctant embrace. Once, she’d come here seeking the world, and now— now, that world holds no interest to her without her family; without her pride.

“Meadow,” she says after a moment, her pale eyes probing the trees and wondering how much the place has changed. Will it be as much as she herself has— or will it show nothing but the same cold, blank face she’d first seen seasons ago? “Can’t be bothered t’ trek all over a bloody mountain. More’n enough wind down here as is.”