The grass lifts along the side of his soft, pole length body. In the summer, he would be completely concealed. However now, in the midst of fall with a slew of orange and red scattered across the field, he is a flashing neon yellow. A sore thumb. And he knows this, but cares not. While he hasn’t necessarily been present around the land of Beqanna, he has always been watching. His analyzation of social cues, his diligence in interpreting social interactions – he is positive this time, Smother is ready.
She stands masked in the shadows of oak and pine trees, concealed in the black comfort that has kept her safe for so many years. How old is she now? A mystery, certainly. The painted female had fallen slave to her insecurities for far too long, and now it was her time to emerge from the broken pieces that had once claimed her future.
A deep breath exhales from her nostrils, leaving a steamy mist to arise into the morning air. It’s getting frosty now, Turkish will begin to feel cold. During the winter season he tends to hang from her a little tighter, yearning for the heat and every year finding it a little less bearable. She appreciates his company – not only because they are tied together by an invisible force – but, sometimes, space would be nice.
“Smo,” his soft his whispers into the air the nickname they had grown accustomed to since they had been paired together so many years ago. Now, looking at him, she sees how large he has come in comparison to the child he once was. She only imagines how she must have aged.
Older, not old, but definitely more mature.
“Turkish,” she nods to acknowledge his existence, though the butterflies in her stomach and self doubt in her mind distracts her from truly appreciating his return. She knows with his arrival means it’s time, and this is something she has looked forward to putting off for quite sometime.
Are you ready? his words whisper into her mind like a soft song, his maturity and elegance even present in his speech. She can feel his seniority over her, his guidance like some form of leader.
No, she responds telepathically, partly because she is too scared to use vocalizations but also because she doesn’t want to hear his annoyance at her lack of excitement.
Ugh, the scoff fills the silence anyways.
So she does it as soon as her slinky-like familiar had curled and looped himself around her neck like an infinity scarf, completely appeased by the body heat radiating from her skin.
And she takes two steps forward, allowing the sun to hit her chocolate hazelnut and white cream coat for the first time in too many years.
SMOTHER