†
In the days following his conversation with Sonorae, the fleabitten gray's words ring in his head: 'You don't want me.' It troubles him, but when he considers his own avoidant behavior, he can't fault her belief in that— his actions have certainly shown he prefers the gregarious company of Shiloh, or in seeing how successfully he can peel back the layers of Celestine and see who lies beneath that pretty coat. When has he ever sought out Sonorae?
So, here and there, every few days, he follows her scent through the jungle and makes himself known to her. At first in small ways, such as stepping up to drink from the pool at the same time she slakes her thirst, with a small nod or sound of acknowledgement before going on his way. He is not always successful in finding her; more than once he has discovered where she sleeps only to find the crushed plants where her body had lain, the greenery still warm. Still, he tries to spend time with her as unobtrusively as he can. It is a fine balance between seeking out her company and stalking her, and just as often Temblor abandons his quest out of fear she'll think he's monitoring her to be sure she's doing what he's asked of her.
On this afternoon he has come across her in a small clearing where the canopy is not quite so dense overhead, the result of a tree fallen in some storm this season. He browses near her, close enough to be companionable but not so close as to invade her space, or create an expectation of conversation. He is simply near her, and in doing so hopes to both create a bridge of trust between them that he is as willing to cross as she is. He feels less like she's staring into his soul each time they meet like this— on his end, at least, there is a growing comfort.
An unfamiliar shout through the trees draws his head up: it is unmistakably masculine, and he glances at Sonorae to see if she recognizes the voice —Rougaru?— before he trots into the trees, breaking into a run as soon as the trail widens enough to let him. It is not far to the beach: he hears the ocean swell even as the stranger barks his name. His ears twist at that; he had not thought to be known on the islands except by a select few, and as he leaps deftly from the small bank of roots that separates his jungle from the beach and lays eyes on the mottled gray stallion standing at stiff attention above the surf, Temblor can't recall ever having met him before. If they ever crossed paths, it could only have been during his meditative year on the Crossing— and that would have been a silent encounter, had that been the case. He canters down to meet the stranger before drawing to a stop and asking, guardedly, "Yes?"
TEMBLOR
& swallows you whole
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