When the stranger suddenly screamed, his terrified voice turned heat into ice. Every molecule became like lead, these fevered veins cinch like a noose. I jerk to him, ears back, suspended in the apprehension that my second worst fear would become realized. His wobbly outline is mostly cloaked by smoke, it taunts in and out of view. “No!” I cry, willing him to find a solid root. My encouragement/denial is nothing but a rush of silent air escaping from a jaw that goes slack with horror. I don't want to witness his death! Yet I'm powerless to do anything but watch as he wavers; a quiet whimper chokes the back of my throat. He teeters… and…regains his balance! I suck an alleviated breath into these air starved lungs. The alarm of his brush against death eventually wanes and my numb limbs slowly regain feeling.

Thank goodness…

Carefully, these toes inchworm forward. In the time it takes me to approach he hadn't moved; his shrouded form remains. Was the male iced with fear? The deepest part of me could sympathize. My nostrils draw a shaky breath; they aim to capture his scent, but the swirling gall churns it aside at this distance. As our yards decrease to feet, I hear his words rising above the noise – and I can feel his eyes on me. Warily, my approach halts about six or so feet from his unusually adorned rump. My quivering, deadened legs feel like stone rather than supple meat – I slide subtly closer to the jagged wall, until the rough surface is scratching against my sleek side. At first, all I can do is nod, quietly. Optics slide to his long, clawed feet to stare fixedly at the walkway beneath and ahead of him. I resist the urge to peer over the ledge – those sights wouldn’t help my knotted gut. From this angle I couldn’t discern a visual defect in the footpath – a disjointed exhale slides from me as my two-toned irises slide up his leg. Magical digits have already moved to fill the gap betwixt us – yet they hold from him.

Hesitating.

What if he startled?

What if I caused him to fall?

I trace his rustic rump, a plain hue of caramel and cream to side the entrée of deformities he is gifted with. After a long moment, I attempt to bridge the rift and speak softly into the bond, “Please don't be alarmed...this is how I talk...” pleading, I struggle to shield him from the vortex of assorted sentiment – for him, for myself. “Are you alright?” I whisper, he appeared intact physically, but mentally… My head pitches forward, angling the roof of my crown against the wall. Just then, the soft body of mountain hind leaps into view, about four up the way; I stiffen – conforming myself further into the wall while tracing the tan colored prey beast as it clips and clops those tiny black hooves against the stone. It shows us how foolish we are and abandons the trail to forge a vertical way of its own. Each cloven toe dances up the wall until it disappears out of sight. “Show off…” I mumble to myself, unconscious (forgetful) that the link between our minds remains.