Like ships, their bows met abreast. She was a vessel anchored against the sun while he was a mere schooner adrift amidst the wide sea. Somehow they’d come to find one another, their sails turned away from the careful gales of destiny. Whatever or wherever they were meant to be appeared to be all but persuaded, and yet time afforded them small rewards-- tiny inklings of wonder to be dispersed when at last they parted ways. Atlas was not so fooled as to think himself taken by the mare, but certainly fascinated by her virtue and abstraction, her honesty and unwavering conviction. Around Lena, Atlas was a tempest rising with the tide and swathing her in the darkness of his chaotic splendor. He considered himself too wild and too primitive for her graces and yet that selfishness, that self-worship, and undying need to appease his own desires would not let her pass unscathed.

It was as if she had grown to him, a flower pressed against his neck that entwined itself amid the midnight colored locks of his hair. Atlas relished the feel and journeyed to enjoy the sounds of her voice, for it embodied many tunes and beautiful symphonies. Lena was a wonder that captured his favor and, if summoned, could make even the celestial beast bend knee before her.  Never before had the man’s affections been so influenced and at times he was forced to believe that the mare herself was enchanted.

Her severity and wisdom had bewitched him, though he fought against the whimsical charm of her song. When again she allowed for the fracturing of their silence, Atlas paused to contemplate her-- the simplest of answers and yet the most alluring. He wanted to know of the feeling such a tune entailed, because it was something he detected in her wary smile. Perhaps he was presumptuous or merely eager to see in Lena what he liked, but there was something in the subtle curve of her lips, the soft pooling of skin around her eyes as they shuttered in and out of the moonlight, that spoke of sorrow. Atlas himself had never been so emotional nor had he been slighted by the grief of anything quite so cumbersome, but he sympathized for those ridden by such heaviness. Perhaps it was only that he lacked that honest feeling that drove his companions… that freedom to wear his heart upon a tattered sleeve.

As he mused over his own foolish woes, he nearly missed the changing of Lena’s quiet face, the careful bending of her shoulders as she reached out to touch him. Her muzzle was velveteen and it sent a warm wave of comfort across his skin, electric. Slowly, he turned to face her, confused and bewildered by her closeness, but finally accepting… overjoyed. The decadence of flesh upon flesh was not unfamiliar to Atlas and he welcomed it more often than not. Yet, Lena did not appear to him a woman that freely gave what others considered small favors. As she again returned to her own warmth and personal being, Atlas watched her unabashed. He wished to return her touch, but could not find the courage to violate her, fearing that she would flee. He worried that if he ruined her momentary braveness that she would close her pages to him once and for all.

“Do you speak from experience?” he questioned with genuine sincerity. So much had changed him and so much had been taken and given so aimlessly before. But the time Atlas had spent with Lena was endearing to him, a token to be kept close to heart. Though he wished her always by his side, to lead his wayward thoughts to true and trusted walks, he knew that there was little fortune in his life… and to be awarded such fine companionship would never be his fate.