i am the mace, the map, the fall and the high
In truth, he would have cared little about the cosseted prince if he had not lingered in first Aela’s, and now Cheri’s memories. Aela had been toying with him. Using him for her own purposes. That had caused little stir. It is a particular skill of hers, after all, and not the first she has used it on. But Cheri seems far more genuine, and Reave is left to wonder just what it is she sees in the man to leave herself with so many raw edges she doesn’t wish to acknowledge.
If Reave were a better stallion, he would have left them alone. Would have recognized them as something she had no wish to think about and let her stew in her own misery. But Reave is not better. Besides, even without his particular combination of abilities, it would have been easy to see how it festers inside her. He would be far more useful to her if he lanced that abscess and allowed it to drain. If he allowed her to spew all the vile things she has been sheltering close to her heart.
And she does. Without his even having to press any further, the infection bursts. She shoves it between them like armor, as though she could beat him back with the intensity of her emotions.
But Reave had been born into a maelstrom. Everything she hoarded these last months spill forth, setting Reave into a territory he is all too familiar with. Nearly his entire life he has been learning to temper the wildest parts of his soul - of his memories. The recklessness and the endless seeking of his youth had been a symptom of it. Even now, he still hasn’t managed to find a way to leave it behind.
So he watches, feeling the torrent of her wild memories, the hatred tangling with the undeniable draw she feels for the foul-mouthed stallion. But haven’t they always said love and hate are two sides of the same coin. An amused grin comes to his lips at that thought.
In either case, she would have to try a great deal harder to leave him out of sorts. Reave has spent his life swimming in the stew of emotions, both his own and others. Heaving a sigh, the bone-clad stallion watches her breathing heavily in clear distress. Almost without thought, he steps closer and presses his nose gently against the bridge of hers. When he withdraws, he grins wryly. “No,” is his simple response. Then he adds pointedly, “It’s the one you were thinking of.”
reave
@Cheri