A snippet of his first conversation with Famkee worms its way into his thoughts and he finds himself thinking about days long since put to bed. He runs down the pieces of his old life, the routine of leading a herd, the women that he kept under his thumb, the children he barely glanced at despite his quest to keep producing more of them, and the relative ease of keeping all of them safe.
But he lingers at the single name that has stayed with him for all of years that have passed in the meantime. He is sorry to realize that details have slipped permanently from his memory, as though they are surrounded by a dark hazy shield that rebuffs his attempts to summon them back. He remembers the feel of her pressed to him in one of her calmer moments, but cannot recall the color of her eyes, not even the once familiar curves of her body. It is frustrating, to say the least, but he is grateful that some of the intangible things remain, for he knows he needs them in this current phase of life.
“How did it feel to be in love?”
An innocent question, one that he hadn’t cared to give much thought to when he had answered Famkee. However, it returns with a vengeance, demanding his attention as he waits by the water.
Not quite willing to abandon the bravado that had once served him well, he denied that he had loved Demise back then. She’d just been one of his girls, albeit his most loyal (even if the most unhinged) one. But beneath the wicked delights that occupied their time, love had surely woven a web that supported their chaotic relationship. Now, he sees that and can admit to himself that just as she would have done anything for him, so he would have done for her because he did love her.
And so, where the clouded vision of his old love’s face sits in his mind’s eye, a new image develops with precise clarity. The crimson and gold tendrils that frame the eyes, blue as the icy sea she so carefully tries to keep her heart locked within. He smirks at this. As well as he knows himself and his stoicism, he also knows that he has somehow burned through her barriers, by however small a measure it may be.
As he draws in a deep breath, he swears he can smell and taste the salt of the ocean that reminds him of her, despite knowing that the lake at his feet is the freshest of waters he’s encountered thus far. Just as he brushes it aside as a mysterious manifestation of his longing, he hears the steps that had become so familiar to him on their journey here.
He is tempted to bound up to her with the enthusiasm of a young colt, but restrains himself and stands placidly fixed in her gaze as she slinks up to his side. A glint of pleasure, easily mistaken for a flash of moonlight, passes briefly through his eyes as he reaches for her. The new additions to her mane do not go unnoticed, but he does not bother to comment on them even as they scrape at the soft skin of his nose when he pushes against them to inhale, to memorize more of the briny scent that clings to her. The coolness of the scales beneath the hair rouses a quiet rumble of satisfaction deep in his chest as he lets his breath trace a warm path to her cheek.
“And how would you feel if I said it’s you?”
His voice is soft and quiet, yet laden with the loud roughness of his delight (and relief) in seeing her again. He says nothing else, content with just her nearness in the moment. Eventually, his curiosity wins out and he tugs gently at an errant strand of her mane that just happens to be near his lips.
“I haven’t seen you in the Dale for a while.. find anything worth your time?”
assailant
"The comfort zone is always the most desirable place to be. But in settling for comfort, there is a price to pay and it comes in the death of ambition, of hope, of youth, and the death of self."
-Simon Barnes
@Adriana