I can get there on my own. you can leave me here alone.
She is right to think him ignorant.
He is a simple man of simple means.
He knows nothing of the world she’s come from.
In fact, despite traversing this land in its entirety, he still knows very little of it.
Her reaction reeks of indignation but his expression remains passive. He could ask, certainly. Ask why she thinks herself impervious to the cold but he has come to learn that if there are things that others want you to know, they will tell you. Perhaps he has learned this the hard way.
So, he nods. He accepts it as the truth because, for her, it must be. She seems on the verge of saying something when they are approached by another, much younger, stallion. He presents no threat – not because he does not cut an imposing figure but because Bethlehem has never wasted much energy on feeling threatened. He lacks in the specific kind of magic that might make him a worthy opponent but he has never had enough of a sense of self-preservation to fear for his life.
The younger stallion nods in his direction and Bethlehem returns the greeting, the mouth pressed into a thin, contemplative line before he shifts his attention back to the mare, still dripping wet and glowering. Her response is odd, certainly, but he has developed some immunity to the strange and the fantastical, being so plain in a world so full of magic.
“Are you all right?” he asks then, because it seems the only appropriate thing to ask of someone who has just emerged from the turmoil of a journey from the dark places beneath the sea. He has the distinct impression that his question will not be especially well-received and there is some part of him that wonders why he’s even bothered to ask.
BETHLEHEM
I'm just tryin' to do what's right. oh, a man ain't a man unless he's fought the fight.
