Nothing, not even the howl so mournful and the yips and barks, can tear Manhattan from her bonded's side now. The conversation the ancestor carries on with this mare intrigues her, and flatters her too. Her vanity has always been poorly concealed, perhaps for lack of practice. She can't remember the last time she was so heavily praised. Though her master is kind and loves her truly, his pride often seems to overshadow her dutiful companionship. She knows now, as Anaan speaks the truth of Knox's heart, that this is not so.

When the other mare first speaks, Anaan does not hesitate to smile. Little pup, she's read us wrong, he thinks. Knox knows this to be true, too--for his ancestor, anyway.

You could have been clearer, she comments, nudging his neck with kindness as she does so, ignoring his misperception of her youth. She is older than him, now--let him think otherwise.

Anaan takes his thoughts to the air, speaking before the mare can again. "You are right," the protector says, his smile edging on a grin. "She is more than a friend. She was a colt's first love." And here Anaan, the protector, remembers what Knox lived through as if it is his own life. He looks away from Manhattan, the message made clear.

And he, even the ancestor, knows that she knew it too, already.

"But, I was not talking about her as a friend," he goes on, his heart warm at the implication. He has been dead, lost, for so many years. Perhaps this mare, even unknowing of his trials, will find kindness in her heart to offer him the friendship he seeks now, in these waters. If it is, after all, even friendship.

She continues to speak and he listens with care. She is so close to him now, having drawn through the water like a fish that belonged there, and just as he is sure she can smell him, he takes in her scent. It is soft, dark, and cold. The words mean nothing but they are all he has for her. Manhattan's curiosity is whetted with her closeness--Anaan's, just beginning.

What do you think she smells on us, he asks the dog on his back in his thoughts.

Manhattan thinks she knows the answer. She thinks it might be shadow and ash, she thinks it might be thirst and loneliness. But she knows too that these are abstract things, these are things with no clear definition. And she knows even better that they are not what she can tell the delicate grandsire upon whose back she rests.

I don't know, she lies, placing her head carefully between his withers as she does so. Maybe your kindness.

This, too, has no real scent. Yet, this, too, she smells on her master's ancestor.

Anaan senses the disquiet he has brought to the mare with his words, and his smile fades. His intention was never to hurt, does she know this? He nickers softly, reaching forward, perhaps letting his lips brush the skin upon her back, almost perfectly aligned beside him. Manhattan chuffs and smiles.

Breaking all his rules, she thinks, referencing their shared link, the hunter, their kin.

Anaan says nothing in reply. He does not need to justify himself, and he catches the warm, delicate, and playful approval the bonded dog sends his way with her thought. This mare needs comfort, at least he can offer her that. If he were as distant and cold as Knox, he would have gotten nowhere as good in his life as he had: would not have had two beautiful sons to show for his gentility and perceptiveness.

"I have come to think," the wise protector begins, "that whoever I was without her is no good to me, now. She has only made me stronger." He tilts his head, dipping his nose into the water slowly and thoughtfully, and parting his lips to take a sip. The swallow is hard and passionate, the water a cool relief. When the protector turns back to the mare, he is smiling again.

"It is no use wishing we were that someone else again," he answers her sagely. "And if we must, we should follow the example of the past--the ancient us."

His eyes are strong, his blue gaze striking her white one with power. If only she knew how much this means to him--how close he lives to this life of the past that she dwells in, how he breaths it every second he is gifted with the life to inhale.

"In that moment we miss, we never would have wanted to stay as we were for our lifetimes."

Manhattan closes her eyes in sorrow and threatening sleep. The protector's tail sweeps across the water, and his flecked blue eyes, deep and familiar, never leave the whites of the mysterious mare. Let her learn something from this, this half-life that he knows--now, with the unfamiliar creature on his back--that he borrows to breathe in.

Let someone be better for his pain.

—
[[@[Essetia]]]