“A rose is a rose is a rose,” he declares evenly and holds her gaze as bravely as she holds his. Skywalker is not surprised; he remains unmoving while the creek rushes frivolously into an eager accompaniment to his voice. The stallion rarely bubbles with laughter, as the brook is prone to do, and the stark contrast it galvanizes on his voice is teeming with effect. Naturally, this pale mare should disregard her short shadow of influence and take it upon herself to rant on, granting him her meaningless opinion and thusly bolting herself against the plight of stupidity. Unblinking, the black shadow sighs into the still night that begins to break into a rare predawn glow; it is not the first time he comes across someone like her, and sadly it is unlikely to be the last. The rashness and thoughtlessness with which she presents her argument is something he has seen before. Had she restrained herself for only a morsel of time, harnessing her words, turning them over in her mouth, perhaps they would not have betrayed her in such a blatant way, and her stoic expression would have remained plausible, unbroken.

But alas! A mare is a mare is a mare and he does not need to speak to prove his point, but does so nonetheless; the sun rises slowly on the horizon and he ventures out into the light to quench an overwhelming thirst: superiority. “You make me curious, Artemis. You make me curious because you so boldly assume that I intend to demean her. You make me curious because it seems that your perception of mockery and its uses seem so terribly narrow. Surely, you cannot possibly be so daft?” He leaves the question hanging between them for a little while, hoping its suspension in the pale morning light will be enough for her to think it over. He ignores the itching feeling that he is likely talking over her head – she has not exactly presented herself as the most insightful of creatures. “You fight as well as I do, I’m sure. And that is precisely the reason why I ask you why I am at fault for mocking a lady. I see no difference in the attributes of gender and it would be most illogical if I were to treat you any different on the basis of it. Don’t be so hasty in your judgments, lest you’d want your company to think that they stem from your prejudices.”

By now, his amusement has reared its ugly head and he portrays it with a broken smile: he is a terrible thing, this black wraith that does not break her stare. He knows that he has already broken her; the question is if she will admit it? “My arrogance, it seems, is well grounded. Still, I will be kind enough to advise you not to make idle threats – it’s so unbecoming.”

S K Y W A L K E R.