Force-claiming is not allowed here. This is a peaceful, neutral area meant for socialising.
| Shenzi but you can make it easy on me |
| A small, soft smile played across Shenzi’s lips, tinged with hesitant cautiousness, as Geçersiz spoke of his sister. It was not lost on her that this was a sensitive subject for the black teke stallion, and so she did not pry further, nor offer any comment. Her heart twinged in her chest, though, because she felt he would be a good brother. Attentive to the needs of others, and possessing the ability to protect them in a way that was so rare these days, with knowledge instead of brutal strength. She could not help but wonder why he was here alone. (And she could not help but wonder how different her life would have been, how different Azizi’s would have been, had he been given the chance to be a brother, had Shenzi not lost two sons before him.)
Silence settles on them, as Geçersiz sets about preparing the camphor. Shenzi stands, still and attentive, trying to be as unobtrusive an observer as possible. In truth, she was honestly curious about the breadth and depth of his knowledge, but for now, the rough-around-the-edges mare chose not to ask after any of the other substances. As isolated as he kept herself from stallions, sequestered away in the Peak as she had been these past few seasons, she was not blind to body language, and during much of their interaction, she’d been aware of the tense awkwardness that governed Geçersiz’s movements and posture. It wasn’t something she wanted to dwell on long, however. It was a hard thing to swallow, after all, to be faced with the possibility that she might just be someone most others found difficult to be around. But no, she senses it is something more, and, as she watches him return with the camphor, Shenzi cannot help but wonder if he knows. But when she looks upon him, his eyes still not-quite meeting hers, the traces of deep sorrow she thought she’d seen were gone. Or just carefully masked. The sturdy brown mare is grateful for the distraction of the camphor, and concentrates on holding still, even though her first instinct is to wince and pull away. When the lean stallion draws back, having gently pressed the bruised leaf to the broken skin of her muzzle, Shenzi fights against the desire to wrinkle her nose and dislodge it. The feeling of something laid upon her skin in such a manner is foreign to her, but she trusts Geçersiz, and if it means assisting in the healing of her wound, she doesn't care how strange it might look, and nor does she feel self-conscious about it. If only there was camphor for every type of pain, or herbs to heal the hurting of her heart. And finally, the question she’d been dreading since the moment she’d recognised him, and for a moment, she wished she’d not happened upon him at all. Because he didn’t know, and now it was thrust upon her shoulders to break his heart. (In truth, it was she who did not know, and even if she suspected, it was more than her own heart could bear, to even consider that he’d not only seen the bodies, but he’d been there as they’d fallen.) It took all her presence of mind to keep her expression passive, to not give herself away immediately. Instead she stood as steady as stone. And though she wanted nothing more than to look away, and pretend she hadn’t heard him, Shenzi met that flickering golden gaze that seemed as hesitant as his voice. Like maybe, he already knew the truth, but wasn’t ready to face it. I don’t know, Shenzi wanted to say. Gathered the words to her tongue, where they lay, bitter, until she let them die. She couldn’t lie. Not to him, at any rate. Nor could she withhold the truth, because the dark stallion deserved to know what had become of his parents. "They are," Shenzi began softly, her voice steady enough. But not for long. "They will never leave." Their bones lay buried in the sands of Salem, never to be found, perhaps long scattered by scavengers. Just like the tiny, delicate bones of the second son she’d lost. "I found them, together," the scarred barb mare croaked, feeling her eyes sting as she quickly shifted focus to the cool leaf that still tickled the sensitive skin between her nares. "And I felt a little comfort in that." The words taste like ash in her mouth, and she hates the way they sounded so shallow, so superficial. Perhaps it was a cold, callous thing to say, but before Azizi, there were times she’d wished that she had not risen from the painful labour at the edge of the Dunes. Living wasn’t easy, with half a heart. But here she was, all these years later, still alive with a ragged heart as scarred as her body. And Geçersiz was no bright eyed colt, eager to assist his mother in her healing. Shenzi’s throat tightens, and she struggles to swallow the rising grief. "I’m… I’m so sorry, Geçersiz." |