05-27-2015, 04:21 PM
And so, he follows.
He follows because there is nothing tying him here, because his few loyalties lay with his sister and she is gone now. He follows because he does not want it to end, this moment, where he can watch her and the way the sky curls about her and he can forget for a moment that he is glass and nothing else.
He follows her because he likes the way she moves, like she could cause earthquakes, like a storm caged. It is the way he dreams of moving, but will not admit because he is weak enough without admitting his paltry desires.
They come at sunset, and though he has no loyalty bred in his veins to one place or another there is a beauty in the way the reds and oranges paint the land, the way the waterfall acts as an orchestra, the colors melting across the earth to the sounds of water rushing across the rocks.
He follows her and is careful, but there is a moment when he slips and his heart jumps because he can imagine shattering here, falling to literal pieces. But he catches himself and continues on and tries not to let on to how fast his heart is racing.
They reach the top, and the view is breathtaking and unlike anything he’s seen. He’s always stayed on low ground, the sweep of the meadow (and once, the tarry sands of the beach, to say goodbye). It’s a little dizzying, the way the other horses have shrunk below them. His face is damp and for one bewildering moment he wonders if he is weeping, until he realizes it’s only the spray of the water carried up by the wind.
She touches him and his heart races for other reasons, because he is not used to being touched, because she could dent him with a solid throw of the head. But she does not.
He returns his, brushing his muzzle across her withers, and she feels solid and so much different than sister, like nothing could ever break her.
contagion
be careful making wishes in the dark