What is this place?

That is all he can think as he wanders at her side, all that he hopes his descendant will answer. But there is nothing but quiet. This time, from the other. How strange the protector finds it that his host can be so ungracious and demanding, all at once, with quiet. Was this here when you were born? he queries again, pushing the subject further, forcing Knox to give the answer willingly, even if he could find it himself in this share, multitudinous mind in which he resides.

For a time, there is nothing again. But when Knox breaks through and hums soft enough for Manhattan to hear and she brightens for a half, tired, moment, he feels a lightness that bids him to answer. As new to me as you, Anaan, the hunter things with a mental sigh. Manhattan catches up to the forelegs of this body, the ones that lead further into cracked walls and slow-moving fire. She feels a calm. She feels, for a moment, the bonded joy of the forgetful.

When the cavern reveals itself, Anaan stiffens visibly. He ceases all movement, standing stock still with ears laid back and heart thumping rapidly. It's ok, the black dog assures him, nudging his hock with her steadily drying nose, urging him forth. We're all here, with you. And the protector knows, as she spurs him to walk once more and keep pace with the badger faced mare beside him, that she is right. They are all there, with him.

It is at this moment of realization, this understanding of his company for all that it is, that the mare turns to question him. She is blushing, she seems happy to be at his side, he thinks, but she is doubtful, too. Is she doubtful of his reality, or simply of his lateness?

As if she was here waiting...
It's none of her business.
The mim just missed yuh, she is unsurr.
This is boring.
Why are we here?
I want more than this, doesn't she?
Too many questions.

So many minds converge and insist, all putting forth their own opinion, but he shakes his head and casts them aside. There is only one voice that still speaks, one warning, perhaps one that will not be heeded: no names.

Anaan hesitates. He catches her white eyes and his jaw drifts open, his ears that had flicked forward begin to droop. How is he to answer this with truth and yet, none at all? "I have a family," he says, slowly, knowing this is in some ways a lie. "I have sons, I have grandsons. No partner but Manhattan, but all of these to my name, and I..." once again his voice shudders before he can speak again. Is this lying? His mind feels pinched. His heart feels unsteady. "...I have given up a lot of things. I have given up much to care for them."

At this he picks up his pace for a moment, trying to head her off, trying to stop her with the gentle magnitude of his being. Will she listen? And will she believe him, as he speaks with such earnestness, wishing he could say so much more?

"I could not give up this--your company, your kindness, the curve of the white lines you bear as your name to me. But I had to delay it, for my family's sake. And I hope you can forgive me, yet at once I am unable and unwilling to apologize. "

Let her now know this:
Perhaps he will never give her his name. But he has given her now his family, even if only in passing. He has given her his honesty, his full truth and his love for all the bodies and minds that inhabit this being he shares. The ones he has known and the ones he has not, the ones he has feared and the ones he has loved. In this way, he has started to force a door that is locked by a century of rust. In this way, he is giving her all that he can.

[[@[Essetia]]]
""