but somewhere here in between the city walls of dyin' dreams

He felt light—in more ways than one. Not simply because swimming was the closest to flying (shitshitshit—the realization hit him like a sledgehammer) he had come since that time he had been spirited across the Throat "bridge", but because some of the darkness which had clung to him had been dispelled.

And by what?

A stranger, of all things—a travel-worn, dusty, dirty, bedraggled and apologetic stranger. Had she been in need? No, not quite; he didn't want to call anyone helpless, defenseless, in need. But had finding her a guide done her any harm? No, he didn't think so—rather, the opposite. She had not needed him, nor his guidance, but maybe, in a way, he had needed her. Abstractly, loosely, he had needed to be needed by choice, rather than by circumstance.

And she had chosen to accept his offer of guidance, had chosen to remain in his company, to follow him into the serene waters. She had, actively, decided to place some amount of trust in him.

And then, by sheer happenstance, it had happened to make him happy.

It was a strange thing, strange thoughts, strange life, and something he tucked away for later. He didn't want to pick the moment apart and ruin it with his need to see, and understand, every smallest detail—he just wanted to enjoy it, the rush of cold water across his back, the feeling of chill in the depths his fetlocks touched when they extended... He just wanted to fly in the reflection of the sky.

(The only way he could.)

"I'm glad I ran into you, Mauja," she responded, and with a wink so exaggerated not even he could be afraid (—well, maybe, maybe there was something beneath it, something to be afraid of, but don't be, don't be, don't think too much, take it easy—). Instead, he snorted, a harsher than usual sound as his knees worked their way towards the surface. "At least it was not a literal collision," he replied with a faint smirk, content to wallow around in her wake—let her steer where they would go in their own little corner of heaven—but she turned, slightly. Her neck was still a little dirty up by the throat and head, but he figured she wasn't too keen on sticking it beneath the surface when she couldn't even touch the ground.

He knew he'd be wary of doing it. (He knew he had rescued someone else here, someone trapped in the pond's shallows.) Letting out a strained grunt he turned, and began heading for the nearest shore. While he could tempt fate and risk drowning, it.. was still not something he trusted, and, he felt oddly ashamed of his inability to die; he'd rather Helovia didn't know he was immortal.

So it was with a faint relief that his forehooves struck the murky ground, and he surged upright, baring the top of his back and haunches to the breeze and the sun. His white tail spread out behind him, and his mane clung gracelessly to his neck until it hit the water, where it, too, fanned out. With a small grimace he turned on the spot to face her direction. "So," he said, lightly, brightly, his blue eyes still shining with his own strange brand of happiness. "Am I living up to your stories of unicorns?"

And if he had been a tad less charmed by her, he would've lolled out his tongue in a comic grimace, but as it was, he just tilted his head to one side and gave her a rakish grin to show just how not serious he was. The day someone's bedtime stories of unicorns matched Mauja, well, that was the day he was going to become sorely worried about the state of the world.

[ don't worreeeee <3 @Eliaren ]

Mauja

the white queen