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The sun was pulled away from its throne upon the sky, and with it the heat; I could feel some respite from the inexplicable warmth that had plagued my entrance into this forsaken land. Yes, I dared call it a plague, for it was in the midst of Orangemoon; the air should have been laden with heavy chills and ice, and yet it thrived as though seated in the center of Beelzebub’s own oven. I considered it an ill omen indeed, for this hellish heat to persist unnaturally where it did not belong. Besides that fact, heat had a tendency to wear on already worn bones. I was tired when I entered the Threshold; by the time we entered the border, I was very much exhausted and spent. I didn’t pant with my exertions and I certainly didn’t show my discomfort, conditioned I was in the arts of a warrior—but I could feel the grime and sweat of my body, and it was abhorrent to me. I could only imagine what sort of hell I was putting my nameless companion through, confined as he was to my side as my escort.
At the thought of the grey stallion, my gaze shifted to him and I allowed myself a curious glance in his direction. He had been silent throughout our entire venture, and yet I had the impression of him as being a rather talkative fellow; even now he exuded the air of someone who was rather tongue-tied. Did my presence intimidate him? Or perhaps my earlier hypothesis was correct, and he was merely put off by my lamentable hygiene. Whatever the case, I was surprisingly detached; the exhaustion that clogged my brain refused to afford me proper reflection and observation—or the interest for it, for that matter.
Had I a tail to lash, I would have lashed it as I listened to my companion’s whinny to follow beyond the clear markers of the territory; the vista before me boded of bountiful harvests and plenty, though it was pulled under the shadow of night as the sun’s chariot descended deeper and deeper into the horizon. I obliged my companion, coming to stand beside him; I confess that, in my study of the lands before us, a wandered a little too close to my companion’s person and accidently brushed his side ever so slightly. With a curious cock of my ear, I detected a trace of a tremble wracking his limbs; upon further inspection of my comrade, I deduced the faint alarm in his demeanor, the nervousness of his disposition; he seemed rather riled about something. Was it the idea of meeting with his superiors that frightened him so? Or was he truly antsy about traveling with someone such as myself?
I gave a soft snort, my eyes traveling into the darkness as a different idea began to bloom. “Afraid of the dark?” I asked my comrade; my voice was mild and neutral, though I admit there was a touch of friendly playfulness in there. It was an effort to make light of our company, for I didn’t want him to be afraid of me; in this land of strangers and vengeance behind every rock and shadow, I didn’t want to ruin my chance of finding a spirit that did not find my presence repugnant. Suppose I thought of this gray stallion as the embodiment of redemption?
Suppose it is a very accurate summation of my subconscious thoughts?
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Actions.
Thoughts.
"Words."
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[O] Even if I Tried Again [Emerson // Acceptance]
