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He sighs at regular intervals, always catching his breath though he moves slowly in his hobbling gait. It’s as if his lungs occasionally empty and somehow forget to expand again until the rest of the body cries out for air! Coffee colored eyelids fall and refuse to reopen when blinking, the split second of darkness behind them being greedily taken advantage of by his sleep deprived mind, which lapses into blissful semi-consciousness almost instantly.
His head lowers as his systems falter and his nose bumps against the ground in front of him. His dragging hooves stumble, and he only barely and unattractively stops himself from crumpling forward, his heart racing suddenly as if to forcibly inject some life in the other organs attached to it, sneering, I never rest, what’s your problem?
There are many types of tired and the mud-colored stallion has felt his share of each, but this is something different, something outside the familiar confines of weariness or fatigue or exhaustion. It’s not like the intense pain and stiffness of strained muscles or the suffocating, dripping heat of overexertion. It’s more like a war of attrition, a slow and losing battle of endurance and determination.
It's a whole mind-body type of waning where every part of his very essence is thinned, drained, frayed. It’s been so long since he started out on this marathon that his body has all but surrendered to eternal movement, given up complaining to an unresponsive brain and silently accepted meeting death mid-step, almost relishing the thought of it just to finally be at rest, to finally be still.
Each time he staggers, blinking and squinting at the unfamiliar rock formations around him, he yawns, ears flopping lifelessly in either direction atop his head. “Ahh, shit.” He groans, shaking himself, almost giving in now to the hypnotic urge to fold his knees and let himself fall flat against the ground. He wants it so badly, but he should keep moving. His only advantage over the faster, more able horses behind is a stolen head start and how much longer he can maintain it than they. Stopping risks being overtaken and returned to the place he left, because he knows they’ll want him back and he’s sure they could convince him to stay if he listens, if he hears the dismay and the love in their voices.
Love is selfless, after all, but he won’t make them be. He refuses to burden those he gave so much to protect. What would be the point then? And why should they make sacrifices for a commitment they entered unwittingly? Better to burden a stranger, he thinks, to drag down a herd who knows from the start what an impractical addition he makes. At least then the sacrifices will feel – fair? No, but something nearer to it he wagers, he hopes.
"speech"
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