Masanori


It was fascinating for him to discover what these Helovians might have considered as trivialities. Pleased, somehow, that he knew nothing of the discourse awaiting him beyond the threshold. Such was his curiosity with these companions. This third sense – as he described it now. Perhaps along with their emotional ties, thoughts and senses could traverse through this gate. For now he kept his mouth shut, and allowed his mind to treasure the subtle accounts from the mare and her wolf fellow.

But he had always been alone. In being alone he found reassurances; even if the world was something he could not control. Would he discover what she had meant by that then? Finding comfort in someone else…? The idea appeared nearly impossible, something he couldn’t discern churned at the thought. Fear in its many forms pricked his senses. For what purpose though, was unclear. Briefly he fancied the thought despite its fictitious presence.

The stallion’s ears flickered nonetheless. And listened, ever, for the soft footfalls of the one that trailed behind them.

He lifted his gaze when her words burned with ire. His eyes not quick enough to catch her grin. “I can’t say… It would surprise me if someone fought for no reason at all.”

As they stood upon the threshold of the Thistle Meadows, the stallion could not find an answer to her question. She seemed certain she had already answered that for him. Perhaps this was so. For the ease of comfort he nodded his head, rather than tackle the imperfections of his speech with one whom he had grown fond of.

‘Good.’

He looked back as she went forward. Searching for feathers or the antlers he had found guidance in. Masanori’s heart did not yearn for much. His body would among all other things, in terms of thirst and hunger. But even the heart could make the mind and body move with a power beyond his knowledge. For his heart yearned for their good blessing.

And yet the seconds rolled on, and his hallucinations did not beckon from the forest’s depths.

Alone.

With a snort he bounded forward, tossing his head ahead with the same motion. Splashing into meadow depths to chase after the mare. Believing that she would take his word for what it meant, and think nothing special of his hesitant approach towards the Meadows. Resisting the urge to sprint against the frosted earth when he’d fell in step just behind.

There wasn’t a need to continue conversation. The paint was pleased to allow his eyes the chance to roam out into the lands they crossed. Finding more wonders and oddities that fueled the childish curiosity within. And as ever, the scents of that Threshold faded, trading their presence with that of Helovia. Whatever and whoever these Helovians may be.

He vaguely recognized the smell of salt air, and the oceanic tastes rising off their waters. Harder to discern, now that the air was chilled, and burned his nostrils should he invite the air with too powerful an inhale. But the air was turning, a certain warmth slowly crawled into the atmosphere. The beaches ahead of them an unfamiliar sight, and yet, one that he welcomed. He responded with a rumble, trusting her knowledge, and agreeing with a humble awareness of the things he would have to discover. There was no other pleasure, and perhaps in time he would find the reason for staying.

“What makes you so certain Essetia?”

It was odd to hear his name spoken from another voice, other than his own. Despite the dwindling desire to speak - and rely on what some might consider the archaic dialogue of body language - he would sing and speak from time to time. Knowing that no one would hear him. Like so many ideas and thoughts cast away into darkness, his voice had little reason to take valuable form and sense.

For this reason, he had taken this opportunity to say her name in turn. Strangely, he thought it made him more serious when he did. And laughed quietly at himself from inside his head.