I have loved so hard

that it broke my heart—

Those of flight always amazed him— the soft sound of great equine hooves landing gracefully on the earth. He might have missed it, if not for he the still silence of the wintry grove. Black and cream leg withdrew his ivory hoof to solid, frozen ground while his thick neck bent slightly, head turning to catch the sight of the desert rose alighting the ground behind him. A black-dotted ear swivel backwards, catching the soft crunch of her slim hooves in the snow, but otherwise silence reigned as he watched her approach.

But now, unlike before, her cobra hood is folded and no venom spits from her blushed eyes. It is she who is the snake charmer, as he is entranced in watching her calm approach— muscles that had instinctively stiffened at her landing relaxing with the rhythmic dance of her hooves. But the lull in his mind was short-lived, for his thoughts take advantage of the calm in his mind and leapt back into their clamorous roar.

His head swung away as she neared (their stare was too close, too intimate), dark eyes staring across the partially frozen pond. Though an ear remained pointed towards her, and he watched her beautiful head dip head from the corner of his vision. But silence held— not strained, but comforting— between the two; one of the desert, one of the plains.

Thickened buckskin hide rippled as the soft, silken whispers of her rose feathers slipped against his scars. A small puff of air pushed out of his nostrils, eyes slightly creasing with surprise at the gesture. But either he was too weak from the clamor of his thoughts or too comfortable after their spar to resist, for the mild surprise gave way as leaned his great and hot bulk against of her slender, athletic frame exposed beneath her outstretched wing. He was glad she had seen after her wing; how mangled and blooded it had been after their spar not too far from this quiet place. How different that encounter had been— so much rage and destruction had billowed from those peach-stained wings.

“I know you don't kiss and tell, mfalme tembo, but your heart is weighted down.” Surprise returned, along with his gaze to her face so close to his own. “You are of Korofi? I though of you as waridi jangwa*,” He had not smelled the Dorobian heat or the wild plateaus on her ivory skin. No, only the metallic scent of fury and sand rolled from the blushed rose’s petals. Neither did she look of the Korofi, no wild patterns of raptors painted her coat. But her ferocity easily fit the barbaric plateaus.

Still studying the close, lines of her blushed face (the beauty leapt out at him now that they were no longer masked by wrath) he found her curiously expressionless. He blinked, navy eyes softening slightly at the possible closeness of a long-dead home. A soft sigh pushed past his nostrils, gaze drawn to the winter birds flitting through the barren trees. “Yes, my heart is weighed down, and that is how it should stay. It leads to too many places, all of them painful and troublesome,” though his deep voice was hushed, the rumble still shattered the calm with its sadness, “There was a time when I thought a heart’s path was a simple one. Time here has taught me otherwise.” Bitterness crept into his voice, and a shard of hardness sliced into his softened eyes as Mauja’s mouth gripping a staff came to his mind; Rein’s red-marked face stared up at him; Alysanne’s hatred burned from her eyes.

His head bowed, shoulder further pressing against hers.



*waridi jangwa = desert rose (or rose of the desert)