Manhattan's suspicion has been confirmed, then.

This bond, this master and servant relationship she has so long carried out, this game that she and Knox have played at, is a farce. It is not how things are meant to be.

Hadn't she hunted with him once? Hadn't they run through the woods, siblings, once? Hadn't she had a family in Loretta and Archibald that he had forced her to leave behind? What good had he done her, since he had grown?

She looks out once more at the reflections cast upon the water. She hears the way the mare laughs at the stallion's touch. That stallion isn't Knox. That stallion is one she has pitied, and one who has treated her well, but it is not her bonded. Without a word to either wolf or brute, she turns to depart the scene.

Anaan does not notice her absence, not at first. He is too taken by the joy of this moment, too stirred by the laughter he has brought to the mare. This was all he wanted: to make her smile, to make her forget her burdens for a moment. And he, dripping with ghostly youth and the waters of the falls, cannot bear to hide his happiness. He has not felt like this, so alive, so in contact and concert, for a very long time.

Were it up to the protector, perhaps he would have stayed there for eternity. But Knox was not all lost, and when Anaan's blue eyes were trained on Essetia's smile, he was feeling the tug of a furthered bond, and the tether being strained. His whisper is quiet, his longing clear: "Manhattan..." Knox turns his head towards the retreating shadow and grabs for the reigns. The enchanted bridle tugs on Anaan's broad features.
Time to go, protector.

But the grandsire is like the child at the end of the playdate, the teen before the family gathering. He does not want to leave his place, he is rooted, commanding, and sure. He snorts, softly. Perhaps for the mare, the stranger, it is out of context. For the hunter it is clear: this will be a fight.
I cannot leave her alone, Knox thinks, stern.
Neither can I, replies the protector, his soft eyes trained on the bay in the water. He doesn't think she needs his protection but still there is a frailty to her and a warmth that he'd rather not part with. Maybe, it is he that needs her company. After so long being as bones in the soil, maybe she is what he needs.

Knox will not yield. His heart hurts with Manhattan's, his being insists. Suddenly, sharply--Anaan appearing as if possessed when in fact he is the possessor--he retreats to the shore. The swimming is slow, the ancestor's resistance a struggle, but he makes it there soon enough. Were it Knox alone acting, they would have gotten there with even more swiftness.

Were it Knox alone acting, no goodbye would have been said.

The hunter stands on the shore, his image the protector. Water slides across his coat and onto the floor of the cave. He glances down at the wolf, then back, slowly, tugged by Anaan's perception, to the mare. "I am sorry, I must follow her," apologize Anaan's delicate, deep tones.
There's nothing to be sorry about, Knox thinks with a mental scowl. But still, he obliges his tired ancestor. He will let him have this, at least.

"I would like to see you again," he called from the shore, looking back down to the white companion as his voice and remark tapered to a close. But where, and when? Anaan knew these caves, did he know anywhere else?

No, these were his underground tomb of a home. Beneath their fire, he resided in the peace of undeath. "Would you meet me in these caves again, once the season has turned?" The protector slaps his wet tail against his shivering legs. Knox itches to be free of the ancestral form--to run with Manhattan, and hunt.

Don't waste time, the hunter snarls. He is impatient, time has not taught him to be otherwise. He longs for his bonded's touch at his side. She is so wrong, he knows this when he sees her thoughts. She knows so little of his love for her, and how deep a river it is that runs.

"Soon," the protector manages to squeeze out before Knox is turning him, urging him, pushing him out of the cave. After Manhattan they go, trailing into shadow, turning in and out of each other. Knox, the hunter, reclaims himself. He must follow his bonded, once more.

—
[[@[Essetia]]]