hold on to me; you're all I have. | circinae

[Circinae]

oh, my love, don't forsake me. take what the water gave me ..

Who could ever hope to tether the wind or shape water? It goes against nature - the nature that she and Canaan thrive in, drink in thirsty gulps and still feel a hollowness to their bellies when they’ve had their fill. Things that will never be: Canaan and his love, Circinae and Ruan, Raeanne alive and well. The list continues but … but, when he touches her she cannot bring herself to add ‘Canaan and Circinae’ to it. She thinks, “Gods if there was ever a chance of something, please let it be this.” Then he pulls away and she shows him her trick (what a fine one it is too, there’s a smile brightening that handsome face again) before she re-forms.

A word catches her attention, perking those suede green ears as her head angles softly, elegantly, to the side in curiosity while her soft, dark locks tumble whimsically over the sharp bridge of her nose. “A waterfall? How romantic.” She teases easily, edging back to where he waits for her so that she might feel the curve of his shoulder, ribs, hip when the two of them meld together. It’s a stupid thought (one for frivolous little girls) that enters her head then as she gazes longingly between the mesh of amber-and-green. A fleeting possibility, really, that someday she might be willing to fill that longing inside of him with a colorfully tinted child of his own.

A colt, or perhaps a mischievous little filly, clothed in gold and adorned with cerulean points here and there.

She closes her eyes, tucks the image deep within herself, and then lowers her head to plant him with appreciative kisses along his neck. Affection, she finds, comes easier and much more naturally with him. But her eyes are fluttering open once more and they are moving ahead, following a path she had missed before. Canaan certainly knew his way here and she’s beyond excited now to see the climax of their adventure. A few more steps, a round of the bend, and then the roar is overwhelming - a fine mist rising from the formation that plummets from a high ridge to a deep basin beneath.

“Incredible!” Circinae exclaims, breaking away from her partner to test the edge of the water with her toes. The sound is nearly lost in the deafening rebuttal of the falls, but she makes sure that she’s heard when her neck curves back over her shoulder to shout at him. The buffeting winds send her mane and tail into a fury of action, tangling and weaving into themselves as she laughs. “I have to know all of your secrets now!” She proclaims, dancing lightly away from the water’s edge. She won’t go in without him, won’t disturb this place he’s known long before he’s known her.

It was too perfect. Too unreal. Too … wonderful.

Circinae