10-21-2016, 08:14 PM
The thing that bound them had been tested.
“Yes, safe.” she repeats, after him. Her eyes swallow up half of his face and the sky beyond it; there should be stars there, she thinks - in the sky, on him, and she falls back against his side with a sigh. “And you, you have been safe too?” she queries, her voice tight with concern.
Spear & Spark
Strained even, so severely, that neither had a hope of recovering the way it had been before -
Before!
There had been each other; stars and stallion, so unforgettable, even as she trailed Spear to the fork in the road. He took the left fork, and she the right, and from there, everything had changed for them. She had thought only of the star-touched stallion and it is a miracle that she had not broken a limb on a single misstep or blinded herself on a branch in her quest to not miss a constellation or a comet. He had left something in her; something that built up a black blinding pressure that threatened to burst inside her unless she gravitated back to him - Giver, not Spear, not her brother. So she had come back, and found Spear at the fork as if he had always been there waiting on her to appear just like that!
She sparks (ironic!) back to life in his presence; all smiles and joy on her small upturned face as her black and red eyes look fondly upon his countenance. He is incredibly calm, in a way that she has never known him to be and her small furry nose finds his once-starry shoulder in a comforting touch. Spark listens to his staunch assurance that he is fine but something seems out of place and she cannot think just what it might be that makes her think such a thought. She pulls back enough to give him a once-over with her eyes and indeed, he is fine enough (never a finer picture of horseflesh has she laid eyes upon in her jaded opinion!).
“Yes,” she assures him, small and safe against his side.
(She thinks she can hear his heart against her ear in its tuck against his skin, like a star imploding if stars imploding can be heard in the deep black of space.)
Her black-bonneted brow furrows;
“From… yes,” is all she can manage to say. Had it been the Mountain? Had it been the world’s womb so similar to their mother’s? She cannot fully say, but it had felt like being born again, squeezed through a tight dark tunnel of birth and thighs. There was no fluid this time though, no dark rush of water and blood and nutrients to sing wetly against their skins - only air, and sky, and openness. Such strangeness! That they had laid their eyes upon, twin gazes, black and red, had looked upon the unknown.
(She had known, even then, that Giver was out there - somewhere, a beacon of starlight that she spun towards, knowingly and unknowingly, and she never told Spear.)
“Yes, safe.” she repeats, after him. Her eyes swallow up half of his face and the sky beyond it; there should be stars there, she thinks - in the sky, on him, and she falls back against his side with a sigh. “And you, you have been safe too?” she queries, her voice tight with concern.