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03-22-2013, 04:40 PM
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For the first time, I feel the sun's warmth. It is almost as though the simple presence of this stallion has brought me out of my comfortably cold cocoon. I will admit, I have shut myself off from the world, have not allowed myself to partake in the simple joys of life. With the way that this primitive brute's gaze roves over my bodice, I am reminded of one specific joy of life, one that I have previously only shared with Note. The memory brings a fresh wave of guilt, as though I could control this stallion's wandering eyes. Again, I push it away still reveling in the new interest that I hold in something other than my own pain. And am I entirely wrong to enjoy the masculine attention when that part of my life is so... lacking? I seem to have impressed him with the quick aerial maneuvers, movements that I doubt he could replicate with his bulk. Almost without noticing, I return his appraising gaze, noting the fine lines of muscles on his large frame, so much bigger than mine. He could have easily knocked me from the sky moments ago, and the fresh knowledge both thrills and terrifies me in equal measure. Why is danger appealing? Or is it the fact that he is not dangerous that intrigues me? Instead, I am drawn to his simple masculinity like a moth to an open flame, and I cannot help but wonder when I will end up burned. "I am Gaucho," the steed says in a slow, halting voice that sounds as though it is used very little. I smile, though, for he has smiled at me, and he seems to be genuinely interested in me in his own way. "You are mare of Throat. Gaucho protect you." Oh. Is that all? Am I completely misinterpreting his appreciative gaze? Perhaps he is only doing his duty, which is, after all, what I should be doing. But what is my duty? "Oh, so you're a soldier, then," I say rather stupidly. This is a mistake; I am reminded of Note again. "I am Sohalia," I add, distracted. I am watching Gaucho from under my lashes. He really is strong looking. Thoughts of Note have been shoved to the back of my mind, placed into a neat box and locked away. Memories of my young Skysong and my tragic Diniel, too, are a distant thought. It must be this way, for how else can I focus on the present? What is the present, precisely? What am I doing? Is it wrong, to talk with another stallion, one that I suspect is eyeing me like a tasty treat? Should I simply make my excuses and depart? Despite the questions, I continue a steady path. The moral dilemma is easier to deal with than my intense pain and hatred, anyway. Not to mention, it's nice to be appreciated - if, of course, that is what is going on. |
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"Talk talk talk." |
| Sohalia Don't wanna leave this life knowing I barely tried... |
