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Vivid sun-fire eyes trailed the swivel of copper, cupped ears, both drawn suddenly by the confession of the mare, so delicate and he felt, almost sad. It tugged a chord in his heart, and he gulped hard as pity bubbled into his throat. Obviously he’d not expected such a response, so open and trusting, and as his gaze danced bemusedly across the nearest of her cool-hued eyes Hector asked,
"The Throat?"
Obviously... his companion mocked sullenly.
He knew the answer anyway before he’d asked, and also that it was true; he felt cruel for pressing her, and as she glanced his way the stallion looked helplessly, quickly, away.
Fool. Veci rolled in place against the gentle lagging breeze above the waves.
She went on to explain that the ocean gave her comfort, felt closest to home, (
here, this ocean), and while he couldn’t understand at all what she meant, Hector nodded thoughtfully. He felt not the need to lie to her and said nothing, accepting her answer gently and graciously with a pensive, soft snort. As he gazed across dismal black, the moon’s slight reflection catching his eye and keeping it, Morana moved her lips to touch him. A shiver branched from the spot, warming his hide, his core, his
heart, and the beat of it began again to quicken.
She was an enigma... far too complex for the likes of him to dissect, to comprehend, but still she reeled in his captivation, and he began to flounder at the end of her line.
"You don’t need to thank me..." He assured, trying in vain to match the soft melody of her voice as it melded into the whisper of the waves surrounding; to charm her even half as much as she did him.
"...my duty is to protect the Throat’s citizens." He’d not meant to generalize so harshly, perhaps to kill the emotion ripe through her heart in that very moment. Hector had never intended to let her wander away alone; it had taken so long to track Morana down after all, that he’d not for one second been willing to let her slip again from his sight.
But what now? Veci teased, the wicked Boggart’s impatience flooding both their minds, souring the stallion’s mood, even if he fought to keep his expression clean.
She turned, and Hector followed swiftly, drawing his gaze promptly from the luxurious curve of her rump as it rocked there before him, and casting it down to the sodden sand where he stepped out behind. He thought suddenly, likening the substrate crudely to the dehydrated form back home, of his shift; of his squadron-leader, realising with flaring guilt that his absence would not probably be well received.
See what happens? he snorted harshly, waterlogged tendrils whipping behind as he thrust his leonine tail, irritated, scolding the Boggart's impertinence .
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