I had not been back in the room where I had my little rant, but after searching all over the cave after Africa, I went back, just to make sure. And there she was, basking in the light like a godess sent from above. Her coat reflected the colors from the flame and it made her look like a statue. A beautiful statue. I did not realize it, but I swallowed hard before I entered and that may have been what gave me away.

"Africa." Her name rolled easily off my tongue as I walked to stand my her side. The smell of my spilled blood still hung in the air, but it was faint now, almost like a memory. I offered her a smile in the little silence I allowed. "I have to talk to you, because I have realized something. I may not know what the definition of love is, but I do still know that I love you. Both as a friend and.."

I failed to deliver the last word. Shame rose and I had to look away for a time. Damn, why was this so hard? They were just words! I drew a breath and tried to continue, but it still was not easy to show how much power she had over me. "I love you. But I know you have feelings for Silk. I saw it in your eyes when he left. I don't know what to do with this and it hurts. It hurts more than ripping my wings off, piece for piece. You know I would never ask you for something you can not give, and thats why I do not expect you to feel the same. But I just wanted you to know."

I could not look at her when I spoke, for it would hurt too much. I dared not turn my head and discover what she truly felt of me. There was a chance I could look into eyes filled with disgust or just plain coldness. My mouth got dry and to swallow did not help. I finally found the courage to finish what I had started, so my head turned towards her. "I will always be there for you."


OOC: Permission from @[Africa] to powerplay a little.

Walking "Talking"

Windwalker

All concept of time; the sun’s perpetual dance with the moon, and the familiar undulating tides of the murky black ocean which skirting the desert, had been lost. It had been such a long while since even the bold adventure north to bring home stray souls from the brink of the Helovia- simply; she had not the courage, energy, nor confidence to face that sickness plaguing the land and those undead wraiths which had been claimed by its cloud.

The cloak which hugged always around the rippling roll of smooth dappled shoulders, no longer held that film of rust-red powder; it was tinged instead now with must and mildew buried for many centuries, with this ancient stone castle’s memory, so far down, beneath the earth. So too had the scent of home vanished from her coat; only the cold dank half-light washed over her here. The bright parrot feathers given to her by the Sun God (at the same time as the satchel strapped tightly below her left elbow); interwoven and secured tightly into the oily threads of both her mane and tail’s glorious length, added some contrast to the drear of the cave. The resilient, harmless flames granted by their land’s patron, twisting and licking around her kin’s tread, and hair, were also a remarkable highlight. Certainly in the underworld, the folk of Dragon’s Throat were for the time being quite dazzlingly in this respect.

Africa missed the company of her sacred fire terribly.

Most of her time during the stream of endless, unbroken time in the cave, had been spent against the face of the old, inscribed wall. The shimmery depictions were fascinating, and so easily could she lose herself and her thoughts to those stories portrayed (Midas had mentioned them to be of the Gods; of Helovian ancestors who roamed long, long ago). Although her heart had been soured and her mind turned quite bitter, the Diviner’s vibrant imagination had not diminished at all. Dressing the engraved walls of the rotunda was the warm waltz of flickering firelight- and it was perhaps this in particular, that compelled her to remain.

Though small and well beyond her reach, the ceiling fire-lamp was the closest thing available to the shrine of her Lord, for her to focus her devotions upon and worship.

Fatigued eyes were pulled from the wall, and the worn Oracle moved beneath the cover of the light to bask and be comforted. She had not slept well, if at all, since the transition from the desert and though loveliness still shroud her shapely, elegant form, the young creature felt old and drawn. Silas clucked gently where he stood nestled cosily amidst the plume of his star-lit feathers in the dip of her cloaked back. There was little he could offer his beloved; aside from unwavering support and encouragement, and regular gifts of food gathered from the Glowing Room.

For once few thoughts were rampaging through the space inside her refined skull, but that did not lessen the surprise of company when it fell upon her unexpectedly; the voice of the familiar stallion as he called out her name. Windwalker came to stand beside her with fresh confidence that almost made her blood curdle- she could not fault its existence; would not defy his peace now, but the gruesome detail staining her mind was not easily forgotten. Africa could not tell if the stench of his blood filled her nostrils now, or whether it was the haunting images of his self-mutilation which tarnished his otherwise innocent, company. "Hi Wind..." She answered softly, curling her wrinkled lips into a warm, but tired smile to greet him. Their voices were barely loud enough to resonate, and eerie silence fell as a heavy blanket upon them afterwards. Silas was fairly unbothered by this particular stallion’s presence and snuggled his small head further into the splay of his downy, feathered collar.

The wingless stallion spoke on then, and the mare’s silent stare wandered freely through his black, solemn expression- the words sank easily through forward reaching ears, but even as he paused mid-sentence, Africa could find no words of comfort wetting her flaccid tongue. Sadness welled through her pale, gentle eyes as he turned from her; he was not the first to do so recently, and it pained her to watch the suffering overwhelm their dignity. He pulled air into his lungs though, the breath sharp and loud (perhaps more so because the situation developing grew strained and awkward), and tried with unmasked effort to continue.

So often Windwalker used the word love, and every time her mind cringed unhappily- not because it hurt, nor for the sake of any other who might have stilled her beating heart. The Oracle knew not the meaning of the word bequeathed by so many; she was flattered because pure, hot emotion seemed to radiate around its touch, and heartened that both Wind and Silk seemed so warm; but she could not return to them something which existed not in her own core. When the other stallion’s name was mentioned, a choking bulb caught in the grim depths of her throat- she did not interrupt through; it seemed the gush of words now flowing had been hard enough to conjure in the first place. The stallion whose face wore strange satanic tattoos was lost; taken, she was sure Wind had witnessed the stark truth of his exile from trust- from life. Perhaps jealousy had blinded him- but she never considered that.

The hurt in his eyes never lifted to meet the empathetic caress of her own. Apparently love was crippling, debilitating and dispiriting- the Oracle felt awful. She wanted to cradle him with false promises and hope, but she had not that blackness in her heart to lie.

"I…" She started unhappily when the last of his voice had run dry. "I will always be there for you too. Surely you know that." With his face finally turned her way, she felt a sudden weight in her stomach; nausea perhaps, like suddenly she had the weight of someone’s whole happiness balanced upon her withers. She wanted desperately to submit to the cowardice surging through her veins and severe the bind of their gaze. "Wind, I…" Africa seemed suddenly to be overcome, maybe like he had before; the words she needed to give simply would not assemble.

The Zephyr shifted uneasily upon her back; her confusion, the wild spin of muddled emotion, spilling rapidly through his mind. Shining violet eyes monitored the stallion with expanding wariness, and a low rumble vibrated deep beneath this breast. ‘Settle,’ she eased silently- turning her attention for the briefest of moments, though he could not while she ached so.

"I have never loved anyone. I am young; the yolk has barely been flaked from my skin. Surely such feelings… take years longer than this to establish… I'm so sorry." She wanted so dreadfully to comfort him with tenderness and compassion; she cared gravely for him- she loved the closeness of their friendship. "What does this mean?" Africa was overwhelmed beyond belief by the prospect of this word declared. She knew not what could happen now that he knew her perspective- she was afraid to touch him, to nurse his wounded emotion the best way she knew how. A wave of exhaustion glazed her eyes- her body trembled anxiously, and her mind began to crack as pent up stress and guilt mushroomed still further.

Africa

I have not had many of there conversations in my life, but from the few I have experienced, I've learned that silence is a scary sound. It's even scarier when the sentence drowns in it. Africa's lack of an ending, forced me to finish them and I did not like the outcome. My lack of selfrespect did not help either. Had I ruined the little thing we had or was all of this inevitable?

I gave her a chance to say what she wanted to say, even if it was not much. I almost wished her sire and dam was ugly, for i had a hard time focusing on what she said, while I drowned in her beauty and innocence. The feeling that I now had fucked up bigtime and that we could never go back to what once were, did not leave me for a second. Yet, in the shadow of what felt like despair, a tiny hope flickered.

"Some feelings does not survive for long. Why are you so afraid of what may come?" I talked as much to her as I did to myself, even when I knew I feared the same. A kind of resolution had settled and now gnawed it's way through my body. If she felt insecure, I could not. I had to show her that I had changed, that I could make her feel safe, even when I was the reason for her feelings.

I would have her, whatever it took. I had not sacrificed my wings to keep on being a poor excuse of a horse. "Don't you think it's time for you to love?" I offered her my muzzle as a comfort, for what I asked for, was most likely going to either push her over the edge or worse, push her towards Silk. If the last thing happened, then let it. I had given her a promise, and I kept them, no matter the cost.

"I don't understand you, Africa. You say you do not know what love is, but you love Silas, don't you? Loving a horse is not that different. It's just..more to love."

Walking "Talking"

Windwalker

Time seemed to stand still there, trapped between the frigid granite walls of the cave and held tight by paralysing uncertainty as though shackles gripped each limb square to the moist floor below. Suddenly Africa felt like a child again. Giddying bewilderment sliced her rationality in two; unruly confusion twisted the warping truth of her feelings as the unyielding lance of his words sank ever deeper through her raw, flinching conscience. Light sweat began to bead behind the waver of downy, grey ears and the warmth of the dancing firelight shimmered when the shadows were cast from its reach. Her tail flicked wearily as she stood with her friend (if flailing intimacy could possibly still bind them so), and the thick tangled tendrils of ebony and red brushed limply clear of her contracting, crooked hocks. Nothing about her body-language offered sureness and resolve, and shivering dapples portrayed plainly the insecurity of an unravelling mind.

The sentence he worded firstly was true- she realised easily that the mind was easily swayed off course; that the writhe of steaming emotion was much like the fury of an over-boiled volcano. The lusting hunger she had felt for Silk, though its residue still slicked his memory, had frothed and bubbled over shortly; only to peter out as distance was left to grow in its forlorn wake. The sound of his final pleading declaration resounding hopelessly through the downtrodden crowd; the unfamiliar gurgling choke of illness in his rasping throat... the one-winged creature tore her anguished eyes from Wind and buried them into the miserable blackness of the cave’s foot. "I’m not afraid...” She answered breathlessly, the pitch of her voice breaking as she tried in vain to emphasise his misinterpretation.

An overwhelming feeling of claustrophobia swept through her; exasperation, embarrassment, disorientation; everything she felt then simmered to the surface of her being, coating her tongue in dry acrimony as it slapped silently against the hidden wall of clenched marble-white teeth. Stiffened ears were pushed backwards to bed unhappily across the motionless sea of her greasy mottled mane and the red, square tail feather which rested lifelessly between. “How could I know if it’s time? How do you even know? ...” Lead eyelids lifted suddenly to join the release of flustered thoughts, pale yellow eyes searching his dark expression for some explanation, any clue as to what his love felt like.

Maybe he was right...

She sighed jadedly, what if she was just ignorant; a wilful girl ignoring the begging of her lonely spirit. Loneliness... Africa thought of Midas suddenly, of his emptiness; of the degenerating gold-fringed shell of that gallant family man. He had been devoured by the cruel irony of loneliness, so why could all the loathing and resentment she felt, not be founded (well, magnified in fact) by that too? Although the rate of her pulse had increased rather significantly to force quicker the billow of her rib-sheathed lungs, the young mare held firm a new, rather cool outlook. Her gaze had narrowed cynically when it fell upon the black stallion in unison with her response, but it softened ruefully with the turn of rampaging thoughts.

Windwalker mentioned Silas then and the bird bristled where he roosted at the familiar sound of his name in Helovian tongue. Africa stiffened also- her ears no way inclined to lift away from her hair. She fidgeted uncomfortably, beige hooves scuffing beneath the drowsy grind of her knees. Of course she loved Silas- but that was not a sentiment that swelled outside their bond. It was more than love; more than the playful crush felt so long ago for Voodoo; fiercer than the infatuation that had found her swooning over their- now, magnificent Sultan, in the years buried away. It was deeper still than her covetous ache for Silk, who, like the slaughter of her flight, had become only another torture when she slept. Silas did not hold passion and emotion like a noose around her throat. He was the air feeding her blood; the throb of her heart. Her beloved companion was the only reason she lived today. He was her life, not her love.

Africa

Oh god, I've pushed her too far.

The words I had in my mouth a second ago, dwindled like a flame in the pouring rain. I never ment to make things worse or even force her to admit what she felt. But her eyes betrayed too much. They were indeed the mirror to the sould, even if they showed only despair and hopelessness. And anger. Did I see anger in her eyes?

I pulled my muzzle back, tucking it against my chest. I could feel my heart race, pounding against my ribcage, trying to get out and end my miserable life. "I don't know.. I've never had feelings for anyone, not even myself. But what I feel now, in this moment, is that I would gladly die to save you. I would even give up my life to see you smile." I stole a glance of her and my heart made another effort to free itself from the prison I had made.

"If that's not love, I don't know what is." Despair began to boil as my chance slowly slipped away from me. If she turned me down, I knew I would change. The life I have lived, lacked love and care, so the road back was not a long one. She had the power to break me, hurt me, abandon me. Just like those I once called mum and dad. It was at that moment my fear took over."Please.. Don't take away my only reason to live.. Without you, I am nothing."

Walking "Talking"

Windwalker

The stallion withdrew the affectionate, earnest glance of his soft, whiskered muzzle; the hot, vehement breath dissolved into the cool stale air which had become their common atmosphere. Africa missed it’s lingering caress at once. Although her body ached for that comfort to be returned to her, her natural, physical desire to touch and be touched screaming wildly through her mind, she held back for fear of startling his consciousness with renewed hope and false pretence. Her own flaccid nostrils fluttered gently and despairingly at the situation which seemed to escalate by the second. Her tender gaze began to hollow with blinding guilt, cream encased pupils watching through pooling self-aversion as he tucked his chin away from the rejection she seemed so intent on wounding him with.

As the grim sound of his crestfallen voice spilt like acid across the cold, hard floor, Africa felt the hot swell of responsibility begin to gnaw at her integrity. She pitied him- and such crude compassion had rarely been rife in her shivering corpse before. It was an unpleasant sentiment, and as it began to overwhelm her common sense the young mare felt the stinging bite of surrender. Certainly the Oracle felt not the way Windwalker did- he spoke as though she was his life-force; like she held in her sweaty palm the violent throb of his heart. She didn’t want that responsibility; too many troubles still flanked her existence and preoccupied her thoughts; Africa could not promise to keep it from harm. Sinuhe had perished in her care... Perhaps the ghost-white mare’s bones still bleached beneath the alpine snow of the north.

"I love you..." she lied, and felt instantly the cold sharp blade of regret slip through her heart. The sound of his pleading; the torture of his pained voice; the panic that he could die if she did not feel the same was overpowering, and she could bear the weight of his manipulation no longer. “I love you..." Africa tried again, trying to feel that surge of passion and emotion that damn near crushed this stallion who had bore the pain of severing his own wings. Surely it was there, lurking beneath the distraction of those mental wounds that now lifted to terrorize her emotional credibility. The lie was no easier second time round, and blunt ivories fell heavily upon the culpability slicking her tongue. The one-winged mare’s expression had distorted to suit the untruth; it did not betray now the guiltiness or self-loathing gutting her.

Africa

"I am sorry." It sounded both as a question and an apology as I said it, but in truth, it was none. I've always had an urge to say sorry for everything that happens around me, even when I am not to blame. I knew I had pushed her too hard, forcing her to say words she did not mean. And for what? So it would ease my aching heart? I did not want it to go this far, not now.

But.. I missed the closeness we had shared by the Sun God's fire the day it rained. When I thought back on it, she had played me all along. I had offered her everything and she had taken it all, without so much of a thought about the man behind the hazel eyes. I had feelings too. They were strong, almost too strong for me to control, but I did it anyway. And to what end? That she could live off my goodness and then just throw me away when she got a better offer?

Something changed. One moment ago, she had put fear and hopes into my heart, but now, I felt nothing towards the grey mare. As I looked at her, I could only see lies and empty words. I did not even care that I had put her in this situation. As I tried not to let my breath get shallow and my muscles to unclench, I forgot to keep my mind under control.

"Don't you dare to lie to me! That's all you've ever done since we met. Do you really think I'm that big of a fool?" My voice had gone deeper, my breath heavy with fury and my eyes, oh my eyes, they showed nothing but hate. "I am done with you playing with me. If you so crave for a puppet to dance to your tune, then you'll have to look somewhere else. I am not a toy to break apart at your liking and amusement. And then you lie to me, right to my face! I am done, Africa. Go back to Silk, see if he can manage to please you in the way I can't."

I felt such a hate, such a fury, for all that have befallen me. I've been so stupid. If she could control me with one smile, imagine what others could do. I turned away from her, as her beauty now just mocked me and made me feel sick. I've been such a fool.


OOC: Wow..just..wow..I did not see that coming!

Walking "Talking"

Windwalker

The cave, her own sanctuary, seemed to grow darker around them; ominously so.

High above, warm lamp-light wavered nervously as the cold breath of betrayal began to swell with the stench of her stress like choking fog through the subterranean rotunda. The merciless, wicked fingers of guilt began to pry apart the fleshy walls of her breast; the vulnerability of a heart already cracked, exposed for the taking. Africa had done him wrong and no matter how tightly the weight of her long, black lash-rimmed eyelids clenched, no matter how fretfully her blunt, marbled molars grated together, and regardless of the strain pressing the long heavy length of storm-grey ears back; the rash mare could not now steal back those damaging words.

His apology (the sickening vibration of its undertone curdling with the acid in her stomach), was laced with what she could only imagine to be some perverted type of remorse, and so too did it bear upon its callous spine, blunt scepticism and fresh, boiling distrust.

Still hiding away in the blackness of her tight-eyed world, Africa grimaced regretfully, and the mood engulfing them began to turn dramatically. She could not yet feel the pierce of his dagger-gaze; could not bear to fail beneath the glare of hate and anger- that which must echo now surely, behind the tawny-brown pits of his eyes. She was a rotten weasel (even before this moment, cowardice and deceit had trimmed the smooth grace in her stride), a reality she could not ignore. It seemed her duty to turn upon those she treasured, those she needed; and break them, drive them away.

The cold musty air seemed to thin as her escalating pant struggled to find its fill, and Africa could both feel and hear the drum of the crumbling vessel in her chest, drowning her mind. It was not so loud though to overwhelm the sound of Windwalker’s tirade as it drove suddenly through the rising barrier of resistance around her and on into the frailty of her awareness. His tone was low- frightening. Panicking eyes were thrust open. She could not believe the wrongness of his view; could not understand why now he was tarnishing those moments of closeness they had shared. Bile rose into her throat and she gasped in astonishment, steaming tears glazing the melancholy in her gaze. She had thought for so long that those ducts had dried and hardened; that they were quite incapable now of pouring rivers of raw emotion. The mare was wrong, the bulwark gave way.

Hatred writhed as his repulsed eyes switched between her own, crushing her meek, brittle spirit with its formidable weight as he continued...

The concept of love, the virtues and fabled warmth of its touch, were no longer something Africa wanted anything to do with. It had been spoiled beyond repair, ruined before she had even been swayed by its glorious affection. Love was a double edged sword, and its affliction was apparently far more gruesome than anything she cared to fold her heart beneath. The word as it laughed vulgarly through her core was filthy and abhorrent. Even those friendships (few they were), forged with long-suffering care and compassion seemed sour now. The very thought of civilization and its oversensitivity; of small talk, facades and philanthropy made the Oracle suddenly nauseous, and she withdrew from him hastily into the shell which had been so painstakingly shed after her malicious imprisonment over one year ago.

They were all too wretched- narcissistic and spiteful, and her gentle-nature could weather their storm no longer.

He turned from her as though to magnify (she thought) still further, all the loathing he had unleashed, and a gushing wind suddenly began to whirl around the room. Africa’s sweat laden mane lifted to dance and twirl in fiery drifts as the air circled faster and faster, trapped between those glowing etchings which had witnessed the destruction of two tender minds. Silas rose angrily into the vast mouth of the convex ceiling, casting down upon the wingless stallion glaring umbrage and searing hate; that which his placid beloved had not the heart to embrace. With each furious wing-beat the world which they shared began to spin more rapidly, leaving Windwalker behind to fumble through the mass of fractured amity and shattered emotion, which now lay about his hooves.

Quicker and quicker... ‘Leave...’

This time his magic did not splinter or dither with crude inability, and Africa broke from her prison there by the Wall of History. She might have appeared only as a shaft of light; a streak or blur as she fled, but wrapped in the safety of her bonded’s power, the Oracle left Windwalker standing there- alone.

Africa

I love you, my earthbound goddess

I could not swallow, breathe nor get anything in my body to work as reality hit me. I've crushed her. I knew how fragile she is, but still, I crushed her. My body wanted to turn around and say some stupid apology to fix this, the same did my heart, but my mind was terrified. Not for what I have done, but what is to come.

It is funny, how one person can take the place of many and make you feel alone in a crowded room when they leave. There was no others here, only me, Africa and Silas. That bird must hate my guts now, but you do not know my reason for doing this. I wish you did, so this became easier and less painful. But it's too late now, is it not?

Wind began to swirl in the room and I could just guess that it was Silas' doing. He kept her safe, in ways I could not. It was clear as day for me now, I could not keep her safe. I could not shelter her from myself. I wish I could tell her about my fears, make her understand why I have to do this. I fear myself. I fear what I am capable of, and that I may hurt her. I've done it once before.

As the wind died, I knew she was gone. My throat was dry, but my body still found enought fluid to push tears out of my eyes. I let them run freely. It was the last thing I felt, for as the tears dried out, I was cold. Cold and emotionless. The deed was done. There was no going back now.

I raised my head and let my shallow hazel eyes trace along the wall. A smile curved in the corners of my lips before I turned around. I do not fear myself anymore, I've become it. I am consumed by it, I embrace it.

And who knows, maybe I'll become your fear too?

Walking "Talking"

Windwalker