The Mountain That Knows?

…really?

Who had a name that long? Not to mention, weird.

I had always thought I’d heard some bizarre names while in Helovia and without, but this one, well, this one tops the cake. No wonder she was going around attacking people at random. The other foals must have picked on her something fierce, leaving her rancorous and bitter, vengeful of the honor of her parents, who thought they’d chosen the best possible name for their child.

Maybe she’d kicked my ass to prevent me making fun of her, first.

Regardless, my attentions are called back to the bronze, his cheerful grin met with a stoic stare and the gentle, swaying motions of my tail. Duir, his deer’s tail flicking and bobbing, invades my mind with a similar request: Tell them of me, too! Hubris most!

Though I am certainly not the sort to care much for the bonded companions of those I encountered, I will admit that what almost nonexistent interest was harbored before has grown, somewhat, with the company of my buck. He, unlike myself, is boundlessly curious about those who follow the horses of Helovia, and has almost always made friends, even accomplishing this while I merely managed to make enemies of their bond mates. Watching Hubris’ eager gestures at the magical deer, I succumb to the whims of the beasts.

"My friend asks to tell you he is called Duir," I frown, turning my golden eyes back to the equally metallic, shining pools of the Mountain, my lack of interest in this particular topic perhaps overtly evident on my expression. Despite my disinterest, however, Duir’s soul bond trills warmth, pleased that I’ve done as he’s asked, and is quickly followed by a question.

You now, too?

Why?

She told you.

I sigh. He has a point, I suppose. I aim to lie to her, of course, inventing, swiftly, a new name, a better identity. Damon. Yet, mental doors slam and shutter, Duir’s youthful, but surprisingly strong will bludgeoning my impulsiveness in a swift gesture. He’s fed up of my childish lying, of my manipulations, how I take an apology and a warm heart, and offer it illusions and lies. He cannot comprehend the distrust still harbored within me, and cannot understand why it is that I would want to lie about who I am, to begin with.

Not this time, he demands, his game stilled, his emerald eyes cast to me for a long enough moment that I’m sure he means it. Having vanished for days before, I wouldn’t put it passed him to do it again, perhaps, even longer than his previous protests of my often rancorous and wild spirit, to punish me.

"And I am Rikyn, of no where."