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05-10-2013, 09:31 PM
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She asked Fence who he was, and then went on, pelting him with questions as the rain did with wet. It was not that she was relentless, for Fence felt that such a persistence carried with it a negative understanding, but her curiosity, even while born of amicability, was overwhelming. He still struggled to stand- still extended a jet black hoof and tried to embed it in the slippery, rocky shore so that he might erect himself. She was far ahead of him, backing from him on feet that seemed nimble to the slow-moving stallion. He was healed, but he was still overtaken with the exhaustion that had almost kept him from this new home. It would have been a crime to forget his journey here- his endless toil, his monotonous trek across barren lands and through shadowed turmoil. He did not forget it, he would not. But his name? When she asked, he realized with a sudden lurch that, perhaps after such little use, he had forgotten it completely. So what was he to say when she asked? He kept quiet for some time, his lips pressed tightly together as he struggled and at last gained his footing. His steps were ragged, lurching, and tentative, like a child's, but confidence swelled within his breast nevertheless. She spoke of the rain, and of supposed shelter, and for the first time he began to feel the cold, gritty stains of the rain and mud splattered across his once coat. He realized suddenly what he had done to himself in his stupor, and, looking down at his dirt-coated legs, snorted in disgust. "A way out of the rain sounds wonderful, Hana," He answered in a slow, soft tenor, taking care to test out her name with a smile and an upwards glance to catch her eye. He pulled his body back, leaning onto healed legs and testing them anew. He curled back his neck, catching sight of fresh scars that glittered in the grey light of the rising storm. He was different, now- he was no longer a frivolous runner, he was a soldier. He wasn't sure he was comfortable with the new title, but it was his nonetheless. "You may call me whatever you wish," he said at last, suddenly and out of the blue. His thoughts had parted as he had realized all the questions she had asked and he had neglected to answer. "I have been through much; the story of these scars and the relics of my past, even my name, are things I'd rather not dwell on," he told her respectfully and solemnly. She seemed a kind and understanding sort, he hoped she would heed his words and respect his wishes. Perhaps someday, when he knew her better- no, when he knew himself better- he would tell her of his past.  |
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