Assailant
The remnants of the antiquated machismo that once dictated his way of life linger just behind his new enlightenment and given physical embodiment, it would currently be a large cat purring triumphantly over its freshly captured prey. And yet, while he rides the high of seeing and feeling her yield to his touch, it is not quite the same creature it once was. He is not sure when exactly he’d accepted that his old way of life was defunct, or when he’d come to realize that perhaps, despite the small successes he’d found as a herd stallion, he was intended to fulfill a weightier, more meritorious role. He is still not quite sure what that purpose might be, but her vulnerability in the moment opens doors he had never considered before.
So, he revels in possibilities hidden in the way she thaws as his wing curls tightly around her, in the way her body fits perfectly against his, in the way time stands still as he swears that he can feel their hearts throbbing in sync with each other. There is still much he is unsure of, but he knows that this intimacy, so unlike any he’s known before, that she herself is the home he has been looking for all of these long, lonely years. While he had once lamented those decades of imprisonment, now he is grateful for them, for who knows if their paths would have crossed if he’d been left to wander during those years instead.
For a moment, he lingers on this train of thought, wondering what he might be experiencing if they had met with him having spent all of his time as a free man, or if he’d never ventured to the Mountain and been thrown into his ‘little’ spiral of self-questioning. Perhaps he would still be playing games with her mind, having never taken the time to acknowledge the true scope of his feelings for his old flame. Maybe he wouldn’t. Maybe he would have chosen his words with more care. Not likely, but he probably would have at least recognized the danger in his phrasing.
But he is not that man anymore and the change in her body language comes unexpectedly. As it does for her, the fact that she no longer presses herself to his side does not register immediately but eventually he realizes that he is left holding his wing over an empty space. Confusion knits his brow into a furrow as he watches the tide of emotion wash over and change the landscape of her face. The sharpness of her tongue flicks at his exposed emotional underbelly, but instead of cutting deeply, it tickles lightly, and he laughs aloud as he understands the reason for its presence.
Jealousy. That is what buries the tenderness she had managed to let slip past her defenses and he laughs, not out of malice because he had intended to rile her; no, he laughs because the thought of another turning his head has become utterly absurd. Sure, he has spoken to more women than men since returning to the surface, but none have come close to holding power over him as she does. Again, not understanding how his reactions influence hers, he reaches for her again, thinking that he will be able to easily soothe her temper with his touch.
“Now now, there’s nothing to worry your pretty little self about. Come back here and let’s calm down a bit..”
All journeys have secret destinations of which the traveler is unaware
--Martin Buber