Яikyn

Leave Dragon’s Throat alone.
 
It sounded like an easy task until I got to wandering.  Suddenly, all my roads were taking me south, all the trails ended to close to the desert.  I wasn’t going to say that I was afraid of the consequences, but I do feel a thrill of pain down my still scarred sides looking out across the red sands of the Heart, to where the sea swallows the world; where the Throat had been, when I was small, unless it had been an illusion, like how big the trees had seemed to be so very average now.  It’s somewhere out there, I think, pausing not far from the yawning mouth of the caverns below, the small but strong cerndyr arriving at my side with silence.  He notices my unusual hesitance, how I’ve stopped when usually I carelessly waltz where ever I please, and he doesn’t care for it, as he cares little for all things that seem to upset or add new figures to his portrait of the world.  His small, wet velvet nose presses against my shoulder, nosily, because he can’t talk; still, he doesn’t need words.
 
I feel his questions press against me, a soul sound.  The sun reaches deep into our dark pelts and burns, in the pleasant way sun does beneath spring breeze, and as I look down at him, it carries the few tangle free wisps of my mane astray.  His emerald gaze trickles with gold, and again, I notice the depths of their color, how he seems to already know without knowing.
 
"I’m not allowed that way," is all I explain to him, feeling the shame wash through me like razor imbued warmth, hot and uncomfortable; I’m glad we haven’t shared a single image yet, only these blurry, incandescent ideas of color and feeling which rush through me as he feels things.  An ear falls back, my hooves come to life beneath me, and suddenly, I am turned away from the Throat, and going west.  Duir makes a snort of disapproval as he bounds a few paces to catch me, his mind still fretful with unanswered questions.  Not only does he not understand why I’d care that I’m not allowed in the ocean (didn’t only fishes live there, anyway?), he is perplexed even further by the notion that I’m not allowed somewhere.  He’s heard me say it more than once, that I answer to no one, and so he cannot help but wonder what sort of force has actually barred me from something. 
 
Hell, I don’t even know how to get to where I’m not supposed to be.  A stretch of sea reaches out until I think I can see it, a brim of gold adrift in the turquoise southern waters, but it could just as well be the sun lighting the surface of the caps.  It didn’t explain the strong pegasus smell though, or that there was obviously a lot of traffic to and from there.
 
"Let’s go to the river instead," I state, rather than ask (I’m already on the way, anyway), "You haven’t seen the delta yet.  I can show you where to find the best reed roots …"
 
Whatever reservations he’d held, the need to press further caves in at the promise of food.  Like any toddler, the prospect of something delicious that he hadn’t had the delight of adding to his sensual achievements yet was, perhaps, the most tempting thing that could be offered to him.  Bounding ahead suddenly with his graceful, leaping speed, I can’t help but laugh as my white dappled companion turns about to eagerly stare at me, his golden fores tramping one and then the other in demand of my expedience.
 
"I’m coming, I’m coming!"  I playfully retort, picking up my pace to a trot and nipping at Duir’s shoulders gently as I suddenly spring into a canter and surpass him, "besides, you have no idea where we’re going!"
 

there's no place to hide down here