There had been one, a very long time ago, who had moved the island-child’s heart, who had tempted the boundaries of lawful affection to sway - for free love was unknown there, and warriors alone bred warriors. A veil of soft, shining buttermilk always streamed left like a gentle waterfall, down the bold contours of her face (it was pure white, angelic in every respect), and it shielded the reticent, captivating amber eye gazing demurely beneath; both shone gloriously golden in vivid summer light, set there amid long, luscious rims of bleach-blonde. Enticing was the smooth line of her velvety, pastel pink lips… There was something about the way she smiled; the way laughter fluttered like freed butterfly wings from the pit of her belly, the way her heart glowed warmly, as though the very sun itself had made home her beautiful heart.

He was driven to be better.

It was hopeless infatuation, lust tarnished by the brush of promised failure; and perhaps that young enchantress, the nymph who's bewitching smile he could not resist, knew fully her power. She was the revered daughter of the prophet and his soothsayer (she would be the sole beneficiary of Manangatang lore and religion), a perfect creature born from the sea and the moon; a vestal virgin who would swear to a life of celibacy. The love he felt for her was forever doomed, but still fiercer even than Death’s own black spell. She had been in the crowd the day he’d left the island - her gilt eyes had glistened incredibly above the crowd’s bright chorus of encouragement, of faith (they all trusted him to succeed); and it was she who often visited his slumber with tantalising whispers and beckoning breath.

- - - -

It is early in the night. Darkness works swiftly to choke the bruised blue of evening out of the arc of sky above the basin, and deep shadow wanders restlessly as it wakens through every crevice. Noah ambles down the familiar, very well-worn rabbit trail that carves a link between the dove’s tiny cave and the cosy grove of trees he has come to favour. His skull droops as though the weight of solid lead lies within it, and so too do the pale lashes wilt wearily across his eyes; no matter the press of fatigue, the stallion will resist the urge to sleep, for it is in the smallest hours of the morning that peace welcomes his mind to close (the birds will rouse him quickly, before any horrors descend upon his vulnerable sub conscience).

The air seems to bare the kiss of winter, yet there is no trace of even autumn’s rust in the leaves. His internal clock is disorientated, confused - the vicious result of trauma mixed with ‘jet-lag’, yet his heart feels lighter each day, brighter for the companionship Nora brings.

Hooves crest the final rise, a small hill that offers slight vantage across the valley, and he pauses for a moment to taste the crisp dank flavour of the oncoming night. It was while he perched upon that elevation that the voice of another, familiar - though the face of its owner was slow to trigger, sailed brightly forward through the rising quiet. Bold ears launch towards the sound, the mare, Akumi, who was climbing to meet him, and a puzzled though inviting expression graced his chiselled features. "Evening," he answered after a second, and cheerfully enough; voice unmistakably thick beneath the haze of his confusion. "Shouldn’t you be miles from here by now?"

Noah

See the line where the sky meets the sea
It calls me...