until the lion learns how to write

Lakota had never allowed herself to truly relax in the presence of another creature. Her earliest memories had been shaped by the need to survive, to guard her emotions and reactions so that she didn't chase anyone away the way she had her own mother. Further, she had learned from her father how dangerous it was to show one's hand around those that were not of your own blood, and so she had guarded the parts of her that were the most desperate for affection and love from everyone but her chosen father.

And he had all but spit in her face before succumbing to the Island's wrath.

The knife in her chest twisted sharply, stilling her breath and stiffening her muscles as Bacardi stepped closer. He didn't seem to mind that she was frigid and guarded and hard to know. He offered comfort anyway. Because you're weak, the voices in her mind hummed cruelly. He sees your tears and sees an opportunity, girl.

But so what if he did? What reason did she have for refuting a connection - no matter how advantageous it might be for the painted man - when Lakota had nothing, and no one, left.

So the gray said nothing, only nodded dully and let herself take what joy could be had from the fact that he was here, still, and willing to hear her out despite the veritable she'd erected between them. He spoke again and her gaze darted upward from his chest to his face before she, again, nodded and fell into step beside him, wherever he decided to take them. It is only when they fall still again that she tries to find the words to explain.

"I know I didn't ask permission to leave." She began, although she doubted that he cared after the way he'd been so open about her presence when he'd claimed her. Either way, even this admission was still not an apology. She had needed to go, and so she had. "I went searching for my family... for what's left of it anyway." Arael was dead, likely Avery too. Kvothe and Lace and Medusa were all gone. Ironclad had been the only one she was likely to find, and in truth, the only one she cared about finding.

"I found him..." she said, her gaze firmly on his shoulder rather than his face, her own brow furrowing with the pain of his indifferent greeting. "But it was like... like I didn't mean anything to him." He had been her whole world growing up. Her idol. His dismissal had rocked her to her very core. "And then," her voice grew very quiet and she shifted closer to him, seeking the sort of comfort she'd never allowed herself to have by attempting to press her forehead against his lower neck. "And then he died."

Though it was hardly possible, her voice grew softer still. "And now I have no one."

young mare // Mutt // gray // 15 hh