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[......AND THEN A WHOLE MONTH LATER HURR HURR]
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The jovial outburst from the approaching stallion, coming upon us cloaked in a painted shroud and donning a crystalline horn upon his brow, was a wrenching contrast to the moody, heavy solemnity between me and my gray comrade; it was as though a brittle pane of glass were shattered, delicately falling about us as an easy kind of friendship permeated the awkward fumbling of our own curiosities. My gray companion had admitted to me that he was plagued with some fears of the night; there was no judgment upon the fore of my mind, nor should there have been; I knew far too well that a warrior is not a callous beast immune to fear. Fear was a thing felt by those in possession of a soul, and every warrior possessed a soul. A beast who fought with no moral spirit coursing in his veins and marrow as no warrior at all—but a daemon needing to be scourged.
I digress. The stallion was kind enough to shatter the air of strangeness around myself and my comrade, and was even so gracious to offer his own name—Apollo. I dipped my head in a gesture of civility; my head spun with exhaustion, and some wry thought entered my scrutiny, that I might fall asleep in that very moment as my cranium came to touch the ground. The thought caused me to snort some, though I knew myself only to be delirious with fatigue, and I hoped I would not forget myself or my decorum in the presence of this kind sir. The aura of redemption still hung heavy in the air—I would not ruin it.
But it didn’t help that my companion found his tongue and his mind in that moment, suddenly finding within his ability to remember his name. Lev Fence, he called himself. The gaze he settled upon myself—the light of incredulous joy that he could state his name out loud—coerced a short bark of a chuckle to escape, shaking my sides briefly before I settled in a neutral stance. My eyes did not dance; my shoulders were held slack with tiredness. I was too removed to fully participate in my fellow’s joys—and yet, I found myself to be moved by them as well.
It was my turn to address the noble Apollo, and I lifted my eyes a little higher to meet his own gaze. “A pleasure indeed,” I said, my tone even and smooth, interested and laden with the burden of the trail’s dust and grime, “Fence speaks true. I am Emerson, and I do indeed seek reprieve from my travels. I have come far…my bones ache with it. I beg sanctuary for the time being, if you would have me.” My stub of a tail jerked some, a lingering habit to lash my tail about in idleness. I strove to keep myself coherent.
“Forgive me,” I suddenly said, something amused and apologetic creeping into my tone, “I may not be clear in my statements—any lapse of my manners or articulation is a result of my fatigue. I cry for your patience.” I was entirely unsure of myself in that moment; I was prostrate before this stranger, at the mercy of his judgment of me and my intent, and I was no more than some dusty vagabond who happened to tumble to the door of some grand kingdom I knew nothing about. I did not want this opinion to pass his view, but—ah—what could I do to help it? I could only await his verdict.
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Actions.
Thoughts.
"Words."
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[O] Even if I Tried Again [Emerson // Acceptance]
