The salt air made the stallion feel fresh, but also somewhat crisp - the ocean breeze did something to rejuvenate, it tingled his nerves and stroked his thick mane, rustled his feathered legs - and yet, when the salt was left behind it sapped any moisture and everything became drier, rawer. Grimalkin wasn't one for feeling raw, for it made him feel exposed, like he was admitting some kind of weakness, revealing something he would ordinarily hide (even from himself).

Maybe it was the climate that cause this mare to expose herself so willingly, so openly. If they were a book, he would be a mystery, bound in thick leather with a lock requiring many levels of combinations and two different keys to loosen. But this mare? Her title was blurred, unimportant, but her pages blew open, they flew free of their bounds and scattered across his path, impossible to ignore, appetisers for something more. Maybe her book was a mystery novel as well, for despite her revealing something deep, she hid the shallower stuff - her identity, her true purpose, her destination, her origin. Maybe she was a thriller, leaking details to tantalise and draw him in, surprising him with her many twists and turns, ultimately leading him to - what?

Grimalkin was a crypt (or so he thought), locked up and unwilling to shift or open his doors for anyone to see inside - and even if one were to force their way through, darkness would shroud their vision, and traps and passageways would give false leads and return the perp to their origin. The stallion didn't know why he was this way - no real trauma had ever happened in his life, no great adventure or near death experience. Grimalkin had hardly lived, and yet he clung onto that information like a gollum clings to a ring.

He didn't yet know her name, and he didn't want to ask. Names were something of an intimate exchange where he was from, a token of trust, an item of power. And Grimalkin did not trust this mare, so he did not seek out her name, for he did not wish to relinquish his own to her.

Her reasons for behaving as she was did nothing to sate the behemoth's curiosity - it piqued it further, though he tried not to appear overly keen. He was dissatisfied, for he did not completely understand, he did not comprehend - Grimalkin himself was still going through a phase of growth and change, he wasn't on the other side yet - he had nothing to reflect on in this life. Or did he? Where have I been? he asked himself, and immediately the snowy peaks and unfrozen lake of the Basin flashed to the forefront of his mind. What have I done? he questioned further, and he thought of the continuous path away from the Basin that he had walked. It shamed him, and that was all the more reason for him to distaste this subject, to distrust this mare and to seek an exit to situation.

And yet, he was ensnared, captured, unwilling, unable to leave.

"Does it hurt every time you revisit those times?"

colourize-stock & larfsalot @deviantart