wounded is the deer that leaps highest

wounded is the deer that leaps highest

Psyche the DarkEmpress Posts: 380

Deceased

Mare :: Unicorn :: 15.3 hh :: 8 (ages in Orangemoon) Buff: ENDURE

RayoDeSoleil

01-11-2013, 11:00 AM

Questions and emotions swirled as immaterial as smoke in her mind. Just as she had one within her grasp, it drifted away, shifting, forming, a never-ending dance around and within her. He looked as he had always looked: strong, sure, stoic, silent. His icy gaze roved over her bodice as though remembering, remembering every line, every curve. Was it too much to imagine that he was checking to be sure she was unhurt? Her eyes were doing the same to him, looking, remembering, wondering if he was injured, tired, afraid, anything... but no. There was no emotion apparent in his body; but in hers, sweat-soaked and trembling with exertion, there was plenty.

But what did it matter? It was only a dream.

"Jackal-heart," he finally spoke, and his voice was quite simply as she remembered it. She was surprised at the lack of emotion - where before there had been wariness, pain, perhaps even anger, there was nothing. Nor was he the playful, cunning stallion that she had once almost loved. He was simply nothing. Was this her mind telling her that he was gone? Was this yet another painful reminder that he had been sucked into oblivion, into nothing, away from her, away from his herd, away from everything and everyone that needed him? And so she watched him, keen amber orbs searching - for what, she could not say - devoid of the manipulative facade that she wore so well. She felt young, vulnerable, and weak.

She hated it. She hated that he made her feel that way. She hated that he held that power over her, though she would only admit it in the safe embrace of sleep. And yet, at the same time, it was almost a relief, a soothing balm to fall into after the trials of the day. It would be so easy to admit her dependence on him, so easy to just let him care for her. He already supported her, why should she not acknowledge it? Why not let him do more? She looked down. It was only a dream, only a dream, only a dream... Only here would she give in to her weaknesses; after all, was that not what dreams were for? In the light of day (or, rather, the dark of night, for she slept during the day) she would return to her herd - her herd, not his! - strong, independent, and alone.

But not here.

"Where did you go?" It was a simple enough question, but the feelings lacing her voice, so small in the darkness, were not. There was pain there, hidden beneath an exhaustion that held her in its grasp. Orange eyes were imploring, but they did not hold need; no, even here, in her own mind, she could not admit to needing him. Even so, her guard was down, for what could he do to her in her own mind? The worst thing that would happen would be to wake up, and perhaps even that would not be so bad. Perhaps it would be easier if she did not concoct conversations, if she did not imagine more ways for him to hurt her. Even so, she held onto something akin to hope, and she did not wake.

If she knew it was a dream, then was she really dreaming?