Even with the ghosts in his eyes and sorrow wedged like a stone in his chest, he remains steadfast. She finds herself steadied by the evenness of his gaze, his words, the slow rise and fall of his ribs. For a moment she tries to focus on her own breathing, on the rapid tremble of her heart and the flutter of her pulse shaking in her veins. Her eyes close, just for a moment, a heartbeat in time, and she exhales shakily. But when she opens her eyes again and lifts them to his concerned face there is a new quiet there. It’s pulled tight, so taut, like a membrane stretched thin over her face, but it’s there and it’s honest.
She is surprised by his question, by the kindness etched into his voice and the softness of his eyes. “I might’ve, if I tried.” She tells him quietly, battling fresh waves of shame ebbing and flowing beneath her skin. But even as she says it, she doesn’t believe it. “There was no way to stop them,” she says again, her voice distant as the memory replays across her thoughts, “they were so prepared. So strong.” She finds herself suddenly unable to meet his glance, instead tucking her chin back to her chest. For the first time in her short life she found herself wishing she could be more than just the plain black mare with no gifts or talents. How else would she be any good to those she loved.
When he touches her shoulder, his breath a welcomed heat against her satin black skin, her wide eyes lift uncertainly to his face. “What good is a promise between strangers?” Her voice is soft, a tremulous whisper, but there is a note of sincerity in her question. An absence of accusation. And then- “I trust you, but maybe it isn’t my secret to tell.”
When she steps against him to trace the place above his heart and he leans in to welcome her touch, she folds herself in closer to him. With a tight sigh and uncertainty etched into the soot and shadows of her dark, delicate face, she presses her cheek to the slant of his shoulder. Ilka’s mother had a tendency to love fiercely, to crush her children to the curve of her chest at the first sign of uncertainty. So tucked here, curled into the warmth and strength of a perfect stranger, a kind stranger, Ilka felt stronger again. She felt more like herself. “I don’t need your secrets,” she says quietly, an indecisive smile pulling at the corners of her mouth, “secrets are secrets for a reason. If you wanted to tell me, then I don’t think it would count as a secret anymore.”
And then, with that small smile still ghosting her lips – though it darkens just a little with the weight of her words, “You make me miss home,” a pause, stretched so taut it trembled wildly in the air between them, “you make me miss feeling safe.”
Loved. She doesn’t say.
ILKA
makai x oksana