From the moment Gaucho demanded knowledge of the child Ampere knew she could not answer him. Not int he way he desired, at least. The weight of her reply was so much more than lineage, though she did not doubt its bloody heft, but it was the definition of their relationship, one which she had hastily blurred.

How many times would she do this to herself before recognizing the snake which ate its own tail?
At least this one more time she whispered to herself as she walked, hooves so laden they shifted the sands that bore her, shuffling through them like a boulder pushed by the wind. For all the brave faces that Ampere managed to wear, fear was so strongly rooted in her that it drove nearly every one of her actions, disguised by a boisterous outcry of strength that was as hollow as a paper dragon in a parade. Ampere ruined what was budding between her and Gaucho, because she was afraid of what would come the further she went with him.

That was why she slept with Bucephalus.
That was why she couldn't tell Gaucho, nor the black stallion she currently watched, who sired the child drifting at her heels.

Slowly she drew upon the dancing destrier, her eyes alight with a renewed vigor as she watched him, reminded of the ease with which his love come, the simplicity of what they had. "Hush now, stay still," she whispered to the boy. Unwilling to interrupt him she lent her shoulder to a nearby tree, electric gaze tracing the delicate patterns of his footwork. It was like nothing she had ever seen before, and its beauty easily distracted her, drifting her out to sea where worries and troubles did not tug at her every thought. Unknowingly a smile formed against the roughness of the bark, ushered on by the black's ballet.

Not once during the time he moved did she grow tired, and even as he concluded his steps, his stretch, she was reluctant to be pulled from the reverie provided. She had not come to watch him dance though, she had come to burden him with words, a small price to pay for the weight he had given her. Whether his actual son or not, his genetic material had certainly made all of this more difficult, heavier, than was necessary.

"Bucephalus," she called out to him faintly, almost hoping he wouldn't hear, though she was not poised to dash away if he didn't.

[Wait for Zero :D]

A M P E R E
PRETTY FACE AND ELECTRIC SOUL