03-04-2020, 08:36 AM
They both avoid the topic of his death, neither aware of the care with which the other skirts it. It was one of the first things that Blue Gale had remembered, and he does his best to bury the memory as Eyas moves past him. She climbs onto dryer land, leaving the dampness of the bog behind her, and Blue Gale does the same, leaving his half-finished meal behind. Something else will find it, he thinks, the fish or the birds, and there is no shortage of food on the Island Resort.
Eyas tells him that the black pied stallion he had met knew their mother, and for a time, Gale is quiet, thinking. What if he’d just asked? Would he have spent these years in solitude? Yes, he reminds himself, because he hadn’t a name to give him, and on that day in the field he’d had no memories save his last. Nothing would have changed. He swallows and looks up, just in time to see Eyas has turned back toward him. Though his own wings are still wet and his blue legs thick with mud, he doesn’t hesitate, moving forward as soon as she verbalizes permission.
He wraps his neck over hers (aware, for just a moment, that they are no longer of a height), and pulls her tightly against him. She smells like the sea and the bog, but buried beneath it is something he remembers, some nameless and perpetually recognizable aroma. She smells like home, even if home is not a place. Rubbing his brindled face against her shoulder, he cannot help but feel the ridges of the scars he had avoided earlier. Does he continue to do so, he wonders? What has his sister been doing during the years he has spent in paradise? It is all too clear that it was not nearly as peaceful as his time.
“When you go,” he says softly, not releasing her as a clear indication he is in no hurry for that, “Where will it be to? To Mom and Dad?”
@[Eyas]
Eyas tells him that the black pied stallion he had met knew their mother, and for a time, Gale is quiet, thinking. What if he’d just asked? Would he have spent these years in solitude? Yes, he reminds himself, because he hadn’t a name to give him, and on that day in the field he’d had no memories save his last. Nothing would have changed. He swallows and looks up, just in time to see Eyas has turned back toward him. Though his own wings are still wet and his blue legs thick with mud, he doesn’t hesitate, moving forward as soon as she verbalizes permission.
He wraps his neck over hers (aware, for just a moment, that they are no longer of a height), and pulls her tightly against him. She smells like the sea and the bog, but buried beneath it is something he remembers, some nameless and perpetually recognizable aroma. She smells like home, even if home is not a place. Rubbing his brindled face against her shoulder, he cannot help but feel the ridges of the scars he had avoided earlier. Does he continue to do so, he wonders? What has his sister been doing during the years he has spent in paradise? It is all too clear that it was not nearly as peaceful as his time.
“When you go,” he says softly, not releasing her as a clear indication he is in no hurry for that, “Where will it be to? To Mom and Dad?”
@[Eyas]