As soon as Mauja took his leave, swooping away just as silently and swiftly as he and his owl had initially appeared (probably a vampire thing), d'Aramtiz abandoned his temporary vow of silence. Making a fool of himself in front of Lena seemed acceptable, whereas the pale lord and his cold, cold eyes made the boy feel inferior, foolish, and altogether, rather like a lump of dirt.
But he was accustomed to such a feeling, really. His father, the General, had possessed that same chilly gaze and unyielding mouth. The General had only two expressions, one of which was reserved specially for d'Aramitz. The first was relatively simple enough—cool, aloof, the iron gaze of a general who had seen men die and commanded them to do so. The second, well it was relatively similar to the expression one might make after stepping into an unsavory substance, like a dog feces, for example. His father's lip had a tendency to curl with distaste and his nose wrinkled as if there were a foul smell underfoot, which had always highly affronted him as a boy, because he bathed as often as anyone, thank you very much, and even scrubbed behind the ears.
No matter what Mitz attempted in his valiant efforts to please his lord father, it was never quite good enough, never quite equal to the deeds of his magnificent elder brother, who by that time, was already an accomplished young warrior renowned for his fighting prowess, while Mitz hadn't so much made a dent in the training dummies. He still recalled the training arena in the ice cavern of his homeland even now, when being a warrior still had the romantic appeal to it and an innocent definition of glory and honor. No one had ever told him what it was like to see a man die, least of all his father. And yet, he battered away at the old punching sacks all the same until his horn bled and his hooves split, and all for what? So his father could look at him like he was a chunk of dog feces.
He learned at a young age to never seek the approval of others. In the end, you would only be disappointed.
And so he tried to keep Mauja's indifference from bothering him, but he could not rid the taste of bitterness in his mouth. "Not a very chatty chump by any means, is he?" d'Aramitz huffed aloud to his new lady companion, watching as the pale lord's figure was swallowed by the glare of the snow in the waning afternoon light. "My very presence probably left him speechless, I reckon," he snorted decisively. "I tend to have that effect on people, you know."
Snow still fell, as it had earlier that morning, but it was a pleasant fluff that gathered on his slim back and blended with his appaloosa markings, making him resemble some bizarre blue specimen with a severe skin disease. Wind combed through his tangled black hair like a woman's fingers, and he imagined for a fleeting moment that he might even look slightly majestic: a fine young stallion with his hair blowing in the wind. That was short lived, however. An icy gust of cold air swatted him head on and his whipping hair practically flayed his face alive. Shaking the strands out his stinging eyes, he glanced at Lena beside him. "I think he really took to me, don't you think?" The sarcasm drenching his tone was hardly subtle. But then again, subtlety had never been one of d'Aramitz's finer qualities. He wasn't even so sure he actually possessed any fine qualities; Deodat seemed to have inherited all of those, the great meathead.
Thinking of his brother made his heart ache, and thinking in general gave him a headache, so he quickly concentrated on the deepening dusk. As he had jabbered on incessantly, the light seemed to have faded from the skies, engulfed greedily be a lurking sense of darkness. He paid little mind to it at first, because he was accustomed and comfortable in darkness. In the land of his lord father, far to the North, winter wore a permanent cloak of dusk and night, and in summer (if you could even call it that) was the season of never-ending light and dawns that lasted days. But Lena seemed uncertain, and her brow wrinkled heavily as her soft brown lips pressed into a thoughtful frown. She voiced her concern, and all d'Aramtiz managed to do was shrug in an unhelpful manner. "It isn't usually like this? Where I'm from, the winters are always dark." The pride she took in her home was obvious. He had felt the same, once, a long time ago. "Thank you, Lena, for everything."
For not asking me questions that I cannot answer.
But Lena's sudden uncertainty made him slightly uncomfortable. If this wasn't a natural occurrence, then what was happening? He still had a difficult time sufficiently worrying himself—he could outpace any disaster that might be barreling their way. But what about Lena? He couldn't very well abandon her...could he? At home, if you fell behind, you were left behind, and that was the natural order of things. Looking at her sweet face and bold eyes, he didn't know if he had it in him. His father would think him weak and soft-hearted. But then again, d'Aramitz had always been the odd duck out.
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