Her head dipped, but whether due to the somber realization the stars weren't going to answer her prayers, or because her solitude had been broken, she did not know. Blinking away tears, her head turned towards the newcomer, and at first she believed what she saw was simply moonlight playing against the misty film that blurred her vision. But the closer the stag came, the more she realized it was actually him.
Him, who she had met for the first time beneath the midnight sky to intercept a newcomer. Him, who had been the first to greet her when she returned to Helovia after slipping away to seek out her lost family. Him, who had become her motivation, her safe place, her heartbreaker, her ghost. He had become a part of her past that she would never be able to shake. She wasn't sure if she was happy that this moment had finally come, but knew that at their eventual meeting, light would be shed upon the murk that had filled the space between them.
"Ashamin," she murmured, voice barely loud enough to make it to the stallion's ears. He was always the one she wanted to see, but after everything had happened, what was she to expect? How much had changed? Her quiet greeting paled in comparison to the way he called to her, and she guarded herself, allowing her muscles to tense as if protecting the small sparkle that was growing in her stomach, and even more so, she allowed the thorns to grow upon the walls she had rebuilt around her damaged heart. Their relationship had become so strained since she had shared herself with him, when she had foolishly allowed herself to love freely, to expect to receive a piece of a heart that she didn't even know.
The man who appeared before her, unsteady, who fell at her hooves in a broken heap, who cried her name as if in grief, was something entirely different than who she had always seen him as. It was raw pain that poured from him, and despite how easily he was able to shed his earthly belongings, it was impossible to so easily shed the emotion he was saddled with.
His apology stung, and she didn't understand. When they last stood together within the sweeping valley, covered in each other's blood after fighting against and for everything they didn't know they wanted, everything they were unsure they even needed -- (Had he ever needed her? Had he ever wanted her like she craved him?) -- they were so vulnerable. He had cast her away, he had denied her, and she had allowed her heart to break for him.
For a moment, she stood dumbly as he wept. Was his outpouring really the product of their distance? For someone who had so easily told her 'no,' and who walked away and bore a son from another mare, who had slipped so easily through her fingers, he certainly seemed broken by it. "Ashamin," she repeated, her words soft and easy, as she reached down to brush her soft nose against his neck. As a woman who had always relied on her wit and mind to rule her decisions, he always managed to convincer her wordlessly to follow the encouragement of her heart. Slowly she lowered herself beside him, but despite the way she laid herself down, she still remained sturdy. She was a rock to keep him above water, a safe harbor during the danger of a stormy night. She was hesitant, knowing the last time she reached for him, he pulled away.
What had brought him to her? Did he seek her? Or did she happen to be the first one who's path he crossed? As her heart fluttered nervously in her chest, something urged her to repeat her mistake. The past didn't matter in this moment. He needed something, and she couldn't leave him like he had left her. She reached for him, allowing her neck to drape over him, and she pressed her cheek into the softness of his fur. "You have nothing to apologize for," she murmured. The star girl did not know the weight of his burden. She did not know how he was tricked by a cunning woman to cull her mistake. She did not know that he thought the title 'murderer' was a scarlet symbol he needed to wear upon his shoulder. Even for what she thought he was apologizing for, his honesty in the face of her offered love, was not something to feel remorse for. Her anger towards him after their fight, the lingering suffering she forced upon herself, was not of his doing. It was the bitter feeling of hurt pride, of allowing weakness to chip her armor. "I didn't mean what I said to you. I'm sorry I made you feel this way. I let my feelings get the better of me, and I don't expect you to return a single single sentiment I hold."
She rubbed the top of her velvet-lined muzzle against the nape of his neck. "There, there," she murmured as she caressed him, unsure how to fix the anguish that radiated from him. "Tell me what's wrong. Tell me what you need." She tried to not honk about the last time she held him like this. She had tried so earnestly to forget the way he scrambled away from her touch as if her skin seeped poison, as if she were an excruciating kryptonite to his very being. The girl pulled her face away from him, and concern settled over her expression. "I'm sorry if you don't want me here. I don't want to hurt you more than I already have. Please, tell me if I'm making this worse."
The midnight girl lay silently for a moment, wondering if history would repeat itself as it so often does, or maybe something less damaging would occur to take away their pain.
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Ki'irha speaks
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