†
The freckled mare comes to his side as if she's done something wrong and expects reprimand. The way she settles beside him is stiff and cautious, not at all like the warm and malleable presence of Shiloh. Yet, she settles, chooses to come near him much like the first day they walked together despite how clearly every line of her body shouts its discomfort. She confounds him, this mare so clearly at unease, but he has no way of knowing if she is like this all the time or only around him.
The strength of will it must take to draw near to him and stand, steady as they converse, is commendable, for the air is palpable with her anxiety. She looks poised to flee at the slightest sound, side-eyeing Temblor as if he might be what finally spurs her into a run. Perhaps within him Sonorae sees her sins. He tries to imagine what she might have done. It's not difficult to suppose: he's known mares with characters sullied enough to rival the notoriety of the most wicked stallions, their behavior beyond redemption.
The word rings painfully in his chest.
Sonorae can hardly look at him as she replies, stammering out an apology that, until the end, Temblor is almost disinclined to accept. He draws in another deep breath of the fragrant night air. He has heard "apologize" more often than "sorry" as the speaker skirts accountability, as if acknowledging an apology is in order is more than enough to right their wrong. Heaven forbid someone actually take action and admit their fault, humbling themselves and setting their pride aside in favor of mending the damage they have wrought.
There is a mirror hanging on the cellar door Temblor refuses to look at.
"Forgiven, Sonorae," he rumbles, not unkindly, rolling another barrel in front of that hidden door lest the light somehow bleed through. "Trial and error have been swift, if strict, teachers, but I am sure the jungle has more secrets— I welcome your insight," he adds with a hint of a smile. The expression feels too fragile to fit his face, and, in truth, he isn't sure if it would soothe or dismay her. She is very hard to read beyond 'timid' and 'uncomfortable.'
She could have chosen to stay away. Yet, she is here. Trying.
For his sake? Or her own?
"It has been an adjustment," he admits, wondering if it would be apropos to try to bridge the gap between them with a careful touch. Something about her ever-present tension warns him not to, as if the slightest contact might shatter her into a thousand bleeding shards. She is already adept at hiding within Paradise; splintered thus, he might never see her again— an idea that surprises him with the strength of his disappointment. "I've brought someone home who I think you might like," Temblor continues, wondering if the copper-dipped mare would have more luck than he in putting Sonorae at ease, and wanting very much for that to be the case, if only so that he knew there was someone around with whom she might feel comfortable. It may be many months before he is able to find Rougaru.
And, really, should he? The man is likely on the mainland, or dead: two of his own children have had no word from him, and the herd once established in Paradise has long since scattered on the wind; perhaps it is better to integrate Sonorae with a more permanent intent regarding her residence in Paradise with Temblor, who is certainly a more reliable constant in the freckled mare's life than the stallion who seems to have vanished. Ideally, Sonorae need not be in a constant state of anxiety until then, even if it means less time with him and more with the other mares as he brings them into the herd.
"She's very sweet," he adds, "though perhaps as ignorant of the jungle's pitfalls as I was a few seasons ago. You'll help her, won't you?" Temblor asks, trying to see Sonorae's expression through the fog and dark. "And the others, as they come? You know Paradise better than anyone else, Sonorae. I would be beholden to you if you would share that knowledge with the herd."
TEMBLOR
& swallows you whole
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