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Companions have become, recently, rather a something of intrigue to me. Call me strange for my sudden and growing mild curiosity of them; but it seemed everywhere I looked, there was one accompanying a member of a Throat! Zephyr, panda, snake, dog... so many. I did have to wonder why, exactly, these little animals held so much appeal. To have to be in constant presence of another, to have to be emotionally tied so strictly to one, seemed terribly restricting, especially in the early days where the animal would need constant watch and constant care, and if a predator, probably needing help hunting. At the same time, it did appear that Gaucho liked his snake. I watched as the white being reached out for his ear, forked tongue flickering out.
I observed- a rough word to use, for it implies an emotional detachment when in honesty I was attentive and caring for this horse of few words- the sudden confusion in his steely eyes, and inwardly sigh, outwardly swish my tail lazily, wondering if I will ever interpret his words correctly, for it seemed already I had made one or two mistakes in understanding. Or perhaps it was the other way around- I said the right thing, and he the wrong. As terribly philosophical as these thoughts were, I rather quickly buried them, instead trying not to tilt my head in confusion. Did he mean, by 'Mara', mares? Was it a mispronouciation? Surely the large stallion knew how to pronouce mares, however. Was the toss of his head to signify the snake looped elegantly on his head and antlers? Was the snake Mara? A girl then? Perhaps the topic was best dropped altogether, quizzical as I might be about this general idea, and stowed away.
I made no further comment about the pairing sort of thing.
Then his gaze dropped from his face and in excruciating slowness crept over my body, the voluptuous feminine curves and the lighter, more lithe build, the wings elegantly stored upon my back. Is it necessary to speak of my... my... inexperience with a stallion's attention on my sooty body, my charcoal hips and star-splattered shoulder? I resist the urge to recoil from his eyes, instead standing stoicly and letting myself compare to him. We are actually of very familiar build, although he has a deeper chest and heavier muscle beneath his dark skin. I wonder if he is from the same sort of stock as I; Hanoverian, dressage-like warmblood in build. But naturally we cannot leave it at that, and so he utters but a single word that makes me feel rather flushed and sweaty all over, as if I am wearing my winter coat in the summer. I want to drop my gaze but I can't. "Um..." I say, so brilliantly. Have I mentioned my lack of experience on these treacherous grounds?
"Uh."
"Thank you?"
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[O] soldiers lined up like knives in a cutlery drawer [gaucho]
