that love is just a spark that starts in your heart,
and ends in your head
She marvels at him; he is not familiar, nobody could be in her amnesiac state - and yet his touch and smell feel natural, easy and sweet. His warmth chases away a chill she hadn’t known had crept up on her in the cold and damp winter night, and she welcomes it without hesitation. She can’t tell if that’s because of his charming and easy-going nature, or because of the strange memories that she has - or simply because she is physically attracted to him?
The truth is probably somewhere in the middle, she thinks to herself. Still, when he retracts to search her eyes as much as her amber gaze finds his blue one, she can’t help herself and brushes her maw past his in an attempt to elongate the moment - to stretch it into infinity and test herself at the same time. He’s a little too quick for it to be anything but half a heartbeat in which she stretches her neck, and when she sees the hesitation in his eye, she regrets her impulse quicker than even that.
He’s worried, and probably rightly so. Up until this very moment however, the moon-coloured mare hadn’t thought the meeting strange - she was probably bound to run into someone, at some point, who knew her. She saddens, mirroring the feeling that’s so openly written on his face. Here she goes, saddening him with her existence and her amnesia. Who’s to say what she did in her life, who’s to say how many people’s life she might ruin this way? How many can she handle? It’s a disappointment in herself that surfaces, and she can’t quite rid herself of the feeling.
She stirs with that realization, as if perhaps wanting to step back: turn around and run away to somewhere no-one can find her. Maybe she shouldn’t be here at all, should not have come. His questions however - the first one rhetoric to her, an outing of his realization more than anything else - they stop her, make her stall her escape and miss it altogether. She pauses, trying to wrap her head around the events that brought her here - a beach, the descent of the moon, her decision not to join the herds in the fields and meadows she’d passed, finding the river the easiest thing to stick to. It had all felt logical and natural to do, and then he had shown up. She’d remembered somehow, how they met here before, here in this very spot, and in retrospect, she guesses she might not be surprised to find him here again.
She finds herself leaning into him more heavily than she thought she would - or should, with a stranger, even if he is probably not that - and rights her head again when she’s come to an answer. ”A beach. The moon. This river… you.” She bites her lower lip as she murmurs the sequence of events, then follows up with the little other things she knows. ”A jungle, I think - flowers and odd-shaped trees. Fire and ash in the background, though they seem non-threatening. Two mares - one with blue wings, one antlered…” When she focuses on the memories, they’re not all that clear any more.
Did she have a son? She frowns into the man’s mane at the idea of the light-emitting perlino, then pulls back, observing his face as if trying to understand what his purpose is in her life - no, he’s not her son, she concludes, relieved - nor the father. Why does the latter feel like a disappointment, as well as a relief all at once?
”Tell me… tell me something about... yourself?” she asks him - not exactly what she wants to ask him; what is he to her, specifically? But she can’t start with that - she can hope to get to know him again, though. She has a right to know who she’s dealing with at least, right?
and gets caught in your throat
@[Svedka]