who cares if hell awaits? Gendry

[Maribel]

Who cares if hell awaits? We're having drinks at heaven's gate. Her heart. Oh, bless her heart. The poor thing is yammering away in her breast as she does understand the words the stallion speaks. Concern rushes the blue irises and brightens them with her visible concern. She does not seem to understand that the color of her skin is the correlation to other things, other places, other horses. "I am exactly who I am suppose to be." The words come out soft, a whisper across velvet lips as she answers the truest (the only way she knows) way to the blood orange stallion. Mari is afraid he will lash out if she tries to speak more or offer some sort of comfort to the stranger. She only moves when the muscles of his jaw tighten to a breaking, tearing point. The sapphire that swallows her eyes attempts to search his own but he closes them, cutting her off with a sharp snap. "I'm not sure..." The young mare really isn't. She is a child still in many aspects other than her physical form. Her mind words differently, more naïve. It does not conjure up thoughts of angry, lustful males. She has yet to bear a child or even been approached with such an idea. With a slightly skewed head, she stretches the curled neck a bit closer as she tries to understand but fails to do so. Perhaps if she were gifted to read his thoughts, or empathetic to feel his pain, the strike of blue that consumed her coat would slip away but she does not know nor realize the change that slunk through his bones and organs, an earthquake of savage emotion that vibrated his very being before her. "What do you think he wanted?" The question is left hanging in the air. Mari wonders if he knew something she did not. M A R I B E  L