So don’t leave me here on my own—

without you I’m so lost

When the faintest trails of her scent begin to trickle into his nostrils, into his mind, Rohan passes it off as nothing more than memory—nothing more than his foolish and fickle mind, playing tricks and clawing at the barricades and walls that he has sought to strengthen (seemingly to no avail). Still she is there. Every one of his thoughts is intertwined with images of beautiful, mismatched eyes; of long, cascading locks; of the soft, playful curve of her lips. Island breezes and ocean waves besiege him, restless and poignant and infuriating and beautiful. The stallion feels haunted, unable to escape her, escape the dreams, unable to escape himself.

Perhaps a wiser, less stubborn stallion would concede to these things, allow himself the bliss of companionship and rejoice in her company (because certainly, it is no question of Enna’s company—he thoroughly enjoys being around her—but it is own self with which he wrestles). Rohan will not allow himself such pleasures, such happiness. Because what is love, if not fickle, and vain, and selfish? It is better this way, he thinks, undoubtingly, sparing both himself and her from the paltry heartache (surely an unavoidable doom).

Still, he would definitely like to see Enna again. Deep within his heart of hearts, perhaps there is a part of him that has missed her, longed for her—the heavens know that he has certainly craved her. His skin still prickles with the memories, flushing with a surge of heat, and the quickening of his heart thundering loudly in his chest. Rohan has not forgotten—could not forget—the taste of her skin, the delicacy of her body, and the warmth of her embrace. It is all of these things that he ponders now, not realizing the gradual potency of her scent (fueling the images that flare beneath his eyes) until he is almost upon her.

“Enna?” His surprise manages to leak into his tone, broadening the depth of the sound as it stretches and reaches for the mare. Of all the places in Helovia, he had least expected to see her here. Why? He wonders, though his flighty mind is too distracted by her mere presence to consider the question for long—consumed instead by her proximity, he ambles forward, slipping quickly into his usual ease and swagger. “What brings you to my neck of the woods, sweetheart?” He grins crookedly, playfully, bright eyes searching through the mists and shadows that lay swathed around her.

Through their cocoon the stallion breaches, unknowingly ensnaring himself in a web he doesn’t realize he’s woven. Slowing when her shape becomes clearer, his gaze wanders over her physique—as it often does—but the charismatic mischief of his features slowly drips away, leaving behind raw and confusing emotions. The roundness of the mare’s body in unmistakable. Her abdomen is swollen, bulging, and thrumming with life—he has seen it before, many, many months ago—but—how?—no—could it be?!

Rohan swallows against the tightness of his throat, suddenly feeling very cold. At last he looks to her eyes (those beautiful, mesmerizing eyes!) and dares to force breath and words from his tongue. “You are…” he has to swallow again, pursing his lips before continuing, “Is it…?” But he doesn’t need an answer. He already knows—somehow, some part of him already knows the sire of the…child. Why else would she be here? The delightful strumming of his heart quickly accelerates, heightening into a drum of anger and frustration and confusion and fear. “I can’t be a father,” Rohan gasps, the words meant for himself, their fervor echoing throughout out every fiber of his being.

I’m not ready to be a father.

notes; Aaaahhhh!:DDD
“Speech.”

without you I’m so cold

rohan & enna