The sound of the waterfall is comforting as I close my eyes against the violent rushing. I am more than content to lose myself to my imagination as I dream again of the Hidden Falls, but more so of the life I lived there. I dream of the vibrant greens and the cool blues, I dream of the moist heat and the subtle breeze, and I dream of the tall grasses that would brush my knees- a calming sensation that I so often enjoyed. Yet, those dreams are clouded by ruin that I cannot picture because I am too afraid; they are clouded by the death of Midas and the pain of knowing that my world has again been ripped at the seams. It is my vulnerability that is revealed in such loss, my insecurities showcased for the entire world to see, and I am nothing more than the daughter of a King who betrayed his crown. I am a coward just as he was.
There comes a gentle clicking that grows in volume the more I strain to hear it. At first I am convinced that it is my incessant need to fear, but when I open my eyes in order to stare out at Romul thrashing about near the shore, I am certain that the ticking is only growing closer, more frightening. My alarm is quickly transferred to Romul who, bless his heart, halts mid-romp in order to gaze down the narrow tunnel that led us into the dimly lit cavern. At first his expression is stern, volatile, but it eases swiftly into a wolfish grin that puts me at ease. However, when the wolf leans down into his front legs, eager and waiting, I cannot avoid chancing a brief glance toward the passage. But, I am too late or perhaps too shocked to recognize the black retriever when she comes bounding toward the water’s edge.
Apprehension builds in my chest when she launches at Romul with her mouth gaping and her excitement rolling off her shoulders in waves. I am suddenly torn between yelling and plunging into the waters myself, though I know Romul to be an animal capable of fighting his own battles. However, like a mother hen, I stride hesitantly into the tide until the current wavers just above my knees. I stare fixedly at the pair, confused by the dog’s sudden appearance, before finally settling. They appear to be quite chummy given the circumstances, but I worry about Romul’s nature, given how he had once received Rostislav’s hellhound. Nervously I sway, deciding whether or not I should again retreat to the shore… but there is something freeing in the water, something comfortable in my companion’s ability to play and relax. I long for such peace, despite knowing how selfish I feel for at last feeling… content.
I have no right, no permission, to appear so carefree when Midas is dead- when Africa is suffering. I have no right to move forward when so many are trapped in the past, but what about my tears? How little they matter when mounted against the loss of an entire herd, an entire family that was once mine. As I watch Romul, snorting and splashing and playing, I cannot help but feel sorrowful that I will never again feel so free. I have seen too much, endured too much, to ever again be the pale flower I was once was. It is a sad realization to know that my petals have been tinged with red…
The splashing and the romping suddenly draw to a pause and I look again to Romul and his mysterious partner, only to notice that his eyes are careful and guarded. “Essetia,” he urges silently. His chin produces a constant dribble of turquoise water and his coat is matted against the taut skin all along his chest and legs, but he still appears a force to be reckoned with. However, I am unaware of any missed steps, or rather any disturbances to our moment of blissful ignorance. Yet, the wolf is adamant and he begins retreating toward the shore with his head lowered and his shoulders hunched. When I turn to observe his train of concentration, I am suddenly alarmed and somehow calmed by the creature that has forced my companion to take up arms.
The stallion is like a ghostly vision made up of war and secrets. Never before have I seen such a battle-beaten animal with eyes like the ocean’s blue- an almost picturesque moment that leaves me speechless despite my horror at finding him at my back. The man is a heavy creature with thick bones and a muscular neck that appears firm as he bends to dip his muzzle toward the rippling current. I am no longer in question of his retriever -though I had been satisfied with her mysterious apperance only a moment before- and I am unsure whether or not to interrupt him or the tranquility we’ve achieved in our oblivion. Yet, even as I believe myself capable of conversation, I am still reeling, still pushing through my thoughts and my ideas until there is nothing left but a sense of vague emptiness.
Romul emerges from the pool, skirting the stallion to reach me, and yet watching him with crude, vicious eyes. If I were in but any other situation I would have reigned him in, but I was quite raw, nearly careless, and willingly to let the wolf support me in his overprotective reaction. He had come to know me all too well… Yet the silence is too much, and my mind too foggy, to ignore the stallion’s presence for long. “Is she yours?” I question distractedly while bringing my gaze to hopefully match his own. I am still uncertain and perhaps a bit fearful, but with death lingering just outside our door, what else could fate possibly construct to drag me further into the pit of despair I’d somehow found myself a casualty? |
.svg/2000px-Google_Chrome_icon_(2011).svg.png){kind=icon}
