heart-blind;

The wind kept touching him as he moved, gentle and pleasant, stroking his white hair from his face. What he had now were memories, memories of things he dared not label for fear of being wrong—of ruining those few, precious moments he had collected within his mind. They were but pale imitations of life, but he was not entirely stupid: he knew he'd been gone. That he'd disappeared, again, without a word. No matter how much he wished for understanding, and forgiveness, he knew it was unlikely. It was seldom that those romantic, fairytale endings played out, and in the face of.. of anger, of maybe having destroyed all the things which had barely begun to take root—in the face of that, maybe it was better to keep the memories, and never know the pain of the terrible reality.. or the pain of being wrong, of having misunderstood everything.

He could never do that, though. Too many chances and opportunities had slipped through his hooves without him even trying to grip them and hold on, but if he disappeared again, lived his life to the end knowing he never took this chance.. he'd never be able to forgive himself.

He didn't know when he'd gone from trying to deny it, to almost admitting it; to hoping, wishing, praying even, that it wasn't only his heart beating that painfully fast and hard.

Something disentangled itself from the elm trees. It was a black-and-white shape, which he found oddly fitting and humorous. The two recurring colors in his life, opposites, clashing forces, good and bad—too bad the world was all gray. And, truthfully, he was glad for the distraction. It let him shove his thoughts back beneath the surface, black-rimmed ears flipping forward to listen. She was actually coming his way. Somehow, it surprised him, and once he'd convinced himself that she really was trotting his way, he tilted his head slightly to the side. He probably didn't look as unapproachable and burdened as he felt. He never really did. Always under lock and key. Always that marble statue, smiling and guarding his secrets as well as any dragon guarded its treasures. Frigid and warm.

He'd stopped moving, to wait for her instead, and at what was an average distance between two complete strangers she, too, stopped, and nodded her head. She was smiling, and he recalled smiling at strangers too. Cautiously, almost shyly, he dared to again; a twitch of his dark lips, curling into a hesitant shadow of the small smile he'd often worn in the past. The dip of his head was more confident, and as his head was lowered, he took a moment to close his eyes. Inhale. Brine. Wind-whipped pines. The Edge. Everyone is from the Edge these days. Exhale. His heart was pounding again, what now? He wasn't afraid of a smiling woman, now, was he? Or was he just afraid of himself again? “Hello friend!” He tugged his head up again, opening his eyes. Her forehead was bare.

It didn't matter. Not anymore.

She confirmed what he knew already—that she was from the Edge. Glazier, even. Had they ever had a reliable glass-worker when he'd ruled there? He couldn't remember anymore. Maybe that meant that they hadn't. Because otherwise.. he would've remembered, right? "A pleasure meeting you, Kahlua. I am Mauja, of nowhere."

Since I left it all behind.