09-15-2016, 02:32 PM
When Alight drifts close enough to touch, it is everything Malis has ached for, every jagged piece in her chest soothed. She pulls her daughter close, touches her nose to the curve of a delicate cheek, traces a dozen circles etched in gold, a dozen dapples gleaming against that perfect neck. “Alight.” She says again, a breathless sound, a whisper sound. When she shifts again it is to pull the palomino even closer than before, greedy and selfish and broken from so much time of not knowing. The worst had filled her nightmares, had leaked into the quiet thoughts of wakefulness, she had come to know it intimately in recent days. But it is like holding her now breaks a dam in her chest and it is all she can do to hold back the wild and ragged, the black and bleak sorrow that thickens like sludge in her veins.
“My girl,” she says again, draping her neck over those thin gold withers and pulling her close against her chest, “my Alight.” For a long moment, she is quiet. Only her mouth moves, grooming strands of stray indigo in Alight’s dark mane and smoothing them back into place against the contrast of gold. When her eyes drift back to Killdare, back to the large bay stallion standing beside them, they are uncharacteristically soft – though, she has rarely felt a need to hide any part of herself from him. Her brow furrows and the sadness deepens, the uncertainty too, at the strange way he watched them. “Alight,” she says and her voice is gentle but cautious, her chin tightening protectively against the palomino, “have you seen Giver?”
It feels unfair to ask, unfair because they have always been inseparable and yet he is not here. But she has to ask, she must know, because even though he is not of Malis, he has always belonged to the strange blue mare. She may not have any right to feel his absence like a weight in her chest, but she does, and it feels no different than the weight left by Ivo, Roque, and Milia’s absences.
Her eyes lift from the gold to return to the rich bay of a face she knew, and yet no longer understands. His eyes are still green, still bright and aching and carved from the same emeralds as hers, but they are different when they watch her, when they trace the horn on her face and the deep blue of skin like a bruise. They watch each other in the same way, exploring the face of a stranger, of someone they know in the deepest of ways - and yet somehow there are pieces missing.
“You should know my face.” She answers him quietly after a moment, the words shadowed by the furrowing of a dark brow. He should know more, she thinks, he should know everything. He should not look at her like he does not know her, he should not because it breaks something, everything, in her chest. His second question stills her and those dark green eyes hood themselves. Reflexively, defensively, she nearly lies to him. It feels like an opportunity to sever these bonds between them, to set him free and let him be loved by someone with less dark and wild in their heart. But when his eyes change, when he watches his family with a hunger that she feels matched in her belly, she knows only greed, only the way she needs him.
“I will always be yours.” She tells him, her eyes lit like green fire against his face as she watches him from over Alight’s back. “From the moment you found me in the meadow, I have been yours.” The intensity of his gaze is nearly enough to push hers away, but she remains, leaning heavily against Alight for the comfort it brings her now. “I cannot answer your second question, though.” She pauses and this time her eyes do drift from him to hide the hurt that spiderwebs across her face. “That will be for you to decide.”
“My girl,” she says again, draping her neck over those thin gold withers and pulling her close against her chest, “my Alight.” For a long moment, she is quiet. Only her mouth moves, grooming strands of stray indigo in Alight’s dark mane and smoothing them back into place against the contrast of gold. When her eyes drift back to Killdare, back to the large bay stallion standing beside them, they are uncharacteristically soft – though, she has rarely felt a need to hide any part of herself from him. Her brow furrows and the sadness deepens, the uncertainty too, at the strange way he watched them. “Alight,” she says and her voice is gentle but cautious, her chin tightening protectively against the palomino, “have you seen Giver?”
It feels unfair to ask, unfair because they have always been inseparable and yet he is not here. But she has to ask, she must know, because even though he is not of Malis, he has always belonged to the strange blue mare. She may not have any right to feel his absence like a weight in her chest, but she does, and it feels no different than the weight left by Ivo, Roque, and Milia’s absences.
Her eyes lift from the gold to return to the rich bay of a face she knew, and yet no longer understands. His eyes are still green, still bright and aching and carved from the same emeralds as hers, but they are different when they watch her, when they trace the horn on her face and the deep blue of skin like a bruise. They watch each other in the same way, exploring the face of a stranger, of someone they know in the deepest of ways - and yet somehow there are pieces missing.
“You should know my face.” She answers him quietly after a moment, the words shadowed by the furrowing of a dark brow. He should know more, she thinks, he should know everything. He should not look at her like he does not know her, he should not because it breaks something, everything, in her chest. His second question stills her and those dark green eyes hood themselves. Reflexively, defensively, she nearly lies to him. It feels like an opportunity to sever these bonds between them, to set him free and let him be loved by someone with less dark and wild in their heart. But when his eyes change, when he watches his family with a hunger that she feels matched in her belly, she knows only greed, only the way she needs him.
“I will always be yours.” She tells him, her eyes lit like green fire against his face as she watches him from over Alight’s back. “From the moment you found me in the meadow, I have been yours.” The intensity of his gaze is nearly enough to push hers away, but she remains, leaning heavily against Alight for the comfort it brings her now. “I cannot answer your second question, though.” She pauses and this time her eyes do drift from him to hide the hurt that spiderwebs across her face. “That will be for you to decide.”