So don’t leave me here on my own

Much to the man’s agitation, he finds it difficult to read her reactions—how much does he want to see? How much is he looking for? And how much is he hiding from? In dreams it was never this complicated; in dreams there was never a silence thicker than sand, continuously falling into the space between them as the seconds bleed on (space that he longs to see vanished, if only to hold her again).

When she does speak, he hangs on her every word (no matter how small), ears tipping forward in order to hold the sound of her voice, to keep it for when the silence begins to push them apart once again. His eyes watch her closely (desperately, even, as much as he would wish it otherwise). At one time, he might have tried to convince himself that the pain in her face (hardening every beautiful line, darkening that bright, bright gaze) was not of his doing, was not because of his pride and folly, and he would cling to any small excuse to bleach his conscience clean.

Now, however, he doesn’t try to fight the guilt-ridden grief (wild and burning) that floods into every facet of his chest.
It would be a futile effort to do so.

“Mehr,” he repeats, the pup’s name hardly more than a breath across his dry tongue. The stallion swallows, his gaze falling to those large, golden eyes as he tries to piece together something of a smile on his lips. “How fitting. It must have been destiny,” a haunt of a laugh whispers into the frigid air, his thoughts turning briefly to that fateful day (a lifetime ago, it seems) and the metal band wrapped around his foreleg, and how it would have been inappropriate for Enna to find her companion any other way. “Meant to be,” he murmurs then, mostly to himself while his eyes dart to hers, knowing that his wild thoughts have led him much farther than the wolf pup cuddled against her breast.

She questions him, and his weight leans involuntarily forward, trying to ignore just how much it hurts when she rejects his advances. Suddenly the space between them seems so vast and so cold. “It is,” he vows, despite knowing that his promises mean less than nothing to her now—as they rightly should. Who is he, a bastard and a coward, to expect her forgiveness?

Slowly, piece by sharpened piece, he can feel himself crumbling from the inside out.

He isn’t even looking at her when she speaks again.
In the long moments that had passed, his head had fallen, casting a shadow over his eyes as he had tucked his chin in towards his chest, trying (unsuccessfully) to hide the pain and despair from his expression.

The information that his son, his only child—their child—is missing is a (cursed) blessing enough to ignite a different fire within the stallion’s heart—a more familiar fire, one that gives him a shallow, momentary breath of life and stability. “No—” He searches to meet her gaze, his voice closer to the rough velvet of his usual tones. He’s stopped only when he notices a jagged crack along the speckled surface of his egg. Quickly he decides that it is a shallow fracture, a hairline chip, and returns his attention to the mare after his cursory inspection.

“No, Enna,” he continues, almost crooning her name, nearly lost in her presence as he steps steadily closer, choosing to overlook the fact that she had rejected him only moments prior. He would like to think that she needs his comfort now, whether she realizes it or not—but that is the wishful thinking of dreams and fantasies. Of pride. Fighting every muscle, he stops just short of an embrace, looking down at her with a messy collage of emotions. He takes a trembling breath to try and steady himself. “You loved him. He will come back; young boys are simply...too full with wanderlust and an insatiable sense of adventure. I should know,” again, he attempts a laugh, but it is dry and half-hearted.

Is Etziel too much like his father?
His ashen son hadn’t been the only one to leave a broken-hearted mother behind.

Fighting the frown that suddenly wilts the line of his lips, the stallion is far too distracted to notice how the little crack widens, or how the speckled egg begins to move. His attention is only for the dainty woman standing in front of him. “Enna...” he breathes, slowly lowering his head, unable to look away from her shimmering eyes. The urge to touch her, to hold her, is itching through every vein in his body. If she allows it, he reaches close enough for their hot breaths to mingle, for his husky voice to wash over the bridge of her nose. “How long has he—?”

Cheep! Cheep!

The sudden high-pitched noise startles him. Initially frustrated that he had been interrupted (he could almost feel her) his ears slant back into his mane, and his eyes narrow as he glances over his shoulder in the direction from which it had come. However, once he is enlightened by the realization of what has happened, his agitation quickly withers, giving way for a flame of excitement.

Cheep! Cheep! Cheep!

“I will help you—I will help you find him,” he promises both Enna and himself, making sure to meet her eye, making sure that she knows he will, before he turns his attention to his newly-hatched companion. It is some sort of bird—small, with feet and a beak that are much too large for it now, and covered in an ashen-brown fuzz that hardly resembles feathers. The man’s first thought is how ugly the little thing is, but as he feels the fledgling bond (it is not his soul growing bigger, but rather becoming whole, when he had never noticed a part of him was missing), there is a wash of adoration that is uncharacteristic of his rugged character. Slowly, gently, he presses his whiskery muzzle against that precious little head, and breathes in what he hopes will be a fresh start in this dying world.

“Speech.”

without you I’m so lost

without you I’m so cold

rohan & enna