Her soft approval was stark in comparison to how stern that lean body was held apart from mine; the father in me wanted to apply comfort, draw this wounded soul near as a da might his trembling offspring when they confessed some childish sin. But Africa was no babe, and an adult’s folly was often greater than the foolish sprawls of a suckling. The oracle admitted her fear of our last ruler without shrinking resentment, but noticeable inspiration of a lesson well learnt.
The story that followed took us back to a time when I’d yet taken the sands next to our resolute, and entirely different world stood before us—it was a blessed moment in history. No war, no starvation. Those things were to come later in life, but in that moment our greatest fear was that of unicorns and their blood thirst for the devils work. I could recall that meeting with acute detail which she so accurately described. Our warden, Kri had given her kin a rule to travel in the company of each other, and to stay far apart from the northern slopes. A simple commandment in my mind, yet obviously not so easily managed by those of our family.
My gaze dropped from her pained faced when a grimace ran across, it wasn’t that the emotion simply couldn’t be handled—sometimes it was just easier to drop a gaze, then stare at growing sorrow. Quietly I listened as she went on to describe a lass that I’d not had the opportunity to meet during those simple days. Apparently such a chance would be forever robbed. Sinuhe had paid the ultimate price, her blood painted the ground along Africa’s hooves; foolishly spent on the ill tricks of a youthful heart. Africa would be forever flightless in penance for her decisions, however well meant they had been.
Such an act should have been reported immediately. From the moment our young friend had known of partner’s intent, she should have voiced her opinion. We couldn’t travel back though, rewrite what had already been marked in the book of life; believe me I’d have tried to blot out many a thing if such a power was obtainable. Tears spilled from her eyes and still I held back, not cruelly, but I refused to touch her without the consent of completion.
Why? I blinked. She asked, why was she alive and this other steed dead? An answer formed even as she gasped and tried to find breath. Finally, any trace of anger or frustration fell away as natural as snow melting from spring warmed slopes. I sighed as the break drew compassion, gently the muscles in shoulders pulled at my neck toward her cheek, attempting to push against the wet warmth of her face with bumps that offered borrowed strength. “We each pay a different price for our choices.” I answered gently. What could be said to sooth a grief and offer salvation to one stricken with guilt? “Our world isn’t a fair one by far, and crueler than I think most of our family can even realize. At least ye does live; many have given their lives for less.”
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