No Time for Lies and Empty Fights
Though the rain continued in relentless fashion, the spar did not. The undertone of the small mare’s silhouette soon vanished down into the frothy stew of sand, rain, and night’s dress and Hector was immediately glad. His first thought was to spread open his voluptuous wingspan and rise into the glorious heavens – where miserable rain was a far greater companion than the Boggart and his beaten self-respect combined.
It was not to be though... Through the murk she appeared again, and though lungs gathered a great, apprehensive breath into their midst, she seemed not intent to smite him this time. Hector shook his burly nape vigorously and water was flung from the writhing tendrils of his mane. The desert was an arid landscape, deprived of water mostly, and the stallion who hailed from its furious borderline was more or less put out by the endless downpour around them. The golden-red dust had long been washed from his sleek, copper coat and should not adrenaline and exertion have warmed him thoroughly to the core, he might have felt in his bones the deep chill of the wind that howled across the island.
He was oblivious to the fact that flowers, as green as the rolling hills surrounding the tent village, were curling from the water-logged sand by his hooves – that was until her drawling voice and sinking muzzle eluded to their existence. With a brisk snort and an increasingly impatient toss of his fine, horned cranium, Hector too leant down to investigate. The girl had already picked the blossom nearest to her, but he was reluctant. Curious... he thought in silence as Veci’s wicked presence slithered nearer. What is it? the ghost asked; but before he could answer, the chestnut mare had plucked it from the arena.
She gestured forward with it clasped between her lips, and the soldier relented at last, accepting the flower; stained teeth dancing forward to take it. It was small, barely a thread of cotton to snag between molars, but the overwhelmingly sugary taste which spread across his tongue as it slid back towards his throat was phenomenal. He winced and gulped, tongue lashing lips. He likened it to quenching thirst with seawater. "Delicious..." the soldier lied, striking the sand with a tipped hoof before steadying himself with a smooth smile. He was bothered by the spar that had been, but all the same Hector was neither an uncouth or sullen individual.
"Your acc-ent," he continued excessively, trying to compensate for the language barrier which had existed previously, voice as deep and rumbling as spring thunder... "...Str-a-nge to me, diff-i-cult to un-der-stand... you know?" How ridiculous... "I-am H e c t o r... We go out of rain now..." he over pronounced, glancing through the darkness around them as though a shelter might spring out and beckon them forward – but there was no such invitation and Hector’s broard shoulders slumped despondently.
Wait...
There was no longer a persistent sting across the right; his face was not burning with the pain of one thousand ant bites. She healed me! and it occurred to him at last that she had mentioned that before he had even registered that the flowers existed. "Th-ank you- for fl-o-wer..." The accent thing was tedious indeed... Perhaps it would be better for them both if he just turned next and swept away through the night.
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