and all of us, we’re meant for the fire, but we keep rising up and walking the wires
She hears his thoughts before she sees him—the particular pitch and cheeriness of them cutting through the noise. It elicits a groan from her, the patchwork mare closing her eyes and dropping her head in defeat. She had wondered when (never if, with him) he would find her and she is not surprised at how quickly her luck turns sour. She doesn’t move when he makes his way toward her, doesn't move when his voice finally rings out in the air between them and not just playing out in the privacy of her mind.
Instead she groans again, the sound rumbling in her thin chest.
“You again?” She doesn’t admit that there is part of her that’s pleased to see him. Part of her that had been hoping she’d run across the red stallion—his joy so different than the bitterness that so often resides within her. “I’ve avoided you for several years now,” she sniffs, finally turning her head and meeting his gaze with her dual-colored red and blue eyes. “It has been a lovely few years, come to think of it.”
She watches as he pulls himself to his feet, distaste clear in his expression.
He was such a silly, informal boy with no sense of proprietary.
It really was so improper.
She sniffs again and shakes her head. “You’ve not changed a bit, Fox,” her voice is cool and were it not for the deepening of her voice, the feminine edge maturing it, it could still be the thin girly voice that she had admonished him with all of those years ago. “Your thoughts are as whimsical and foolish as they were when I first met you. Have you not grown up at all since then?”
She doesn’t tell him that she’s glad he hasn’t.
lynx