Erthë

You're so cold but you feel alive

There was an awful silence, and it seemed to stretch out horribly with every step she took. She didn't get far before she realized that Tembovu hadn't moved; without thinking it through the young mare glanced back across the growing distance and was shocked to see the expression on the mans face.

Placing one hoof before the other became harder after that. Despite willing herself to continue Erthë knew she was slowing down, the conflicting emotions a near physical force that seemed to double the weight of her dainty feet. Guilt, irritation,  fear, regret - how could one pebble of a question evolve into such a devastating snowball of worry? It just kept growing too, every second of silence adding to the building tension until she just wanted to scream.

An eon (minutes, seconds) later his voice breached the void, making the girl flinch in surprise and relief and guilt. He doubted her. Of course he did. In what world was her behavior normal? As familiar as Tembovu was to her, no doubt she was to him as well. Though she tried to hide it, tried to fake it, they had known each other for so long that putting on masks and pretending didn't really work anymore.

"Yes!" she said, instinct driving her to keep lying even though she knew in her heart it was pointless, foolish, cruel. The lie passed her lips with such ease that it shocked her (when had she learned to speak falsely?) and slowly, painstakingly, she ground to a halt. The load was so heavy now, the last stone teetering on top of the pile, her knees quivering beneath the burden.

"No..." A mere whisper was the hardest thing she had ever done. Blue-powdered shoulders were so tense that the feathers of her wings trembled, and each breath was a shallow gasp that barely filled the top of lungs constricted with fear.

Something sharp and painful was working its way through her, like fragments of glass in the blood scraping against the fragile veins. It wasn't tears like she had known them before, warm and sweet and freeing as they purged her of grief. There was nothing liberating about the salty drops that forced their way past eyelids she quickly squeezed tight, no beautiful sadness to warrant such a display. They were ugly, hopeless, as miserable as she felt, as unwarranted as her lies; she swallowed them down, swallowed and swallowed until the self-pity no longer ruled. Then she sucked in a deep breath and forced it out, off and away until no air remained in her lungs anymore.

It was a long sigh, and while it did release enough tension that she was able to let the head sink toward the ground Erthë felt no relaxation, no calm or composure afterwards. That one word, pressed forth through unwilling lips, hung like a guillotine above her head; a quivering note upon the air that refused to fade. She knew he probably hadn't heard it, the distance was too large, the crack in the mortar of mutual trust a deep ravine not easily crossed. Only she had heard it, only she knew of her defeat, only the wind on the steppe and the swaying grass and her heart that wasn't sure if it should bleed or harden, bend or break, give or take...

"I don't know" she said, and turned her head once more towards the blue-eyed man.