In the place he was born and raised--
(in the place where a part of him lies buried like the ancient roots of a fallen tree, like sleeping, like a forgotten god)
In the place he was born and raised, children were sacred and adults were dispensable. He never really understood why that was (wasn't everyone a child once) but some habits die hard.
(Some
don't die at all--
and some shouldn't.)
So he feels the bump in Bexley's belly, feels little Apolonia kick at him 1-2, 1-2 like a pugilist, and he feels closer to god than he did that day on the mountain when Tempus' voice made his bones ache. It will probably be hard for the child to grow up in Solterra (there are so few children here) but it will be right. "Apolonia," he repeats like a chant, and he smiles a slightly odd little pleased smile. Maybe the word Apolonia should make him think of lightning and ash, but instead he's picturing a large golden apple in Bexley's large golden belly, and the palomino has never seemed to him so vulnerable nor so beautiful.
He wouldn't say that in a million years but he also wouldn't lie, and so his smile tilts like a secret is hiding behind it. It fades when he draws his muzzle away.
"A good name," he knows this opinion is useless but there it is, presented as plain as the earth is round. "Is there anything I can get you? Anything you need?" He looks away, looks back. The sun is about to set and a gentle breeze sweeps through. It is quite comfortable at this golden hour, quite rare, and Eik is in quite a good mood. A baby is going to be brought into this world, and the future seems unusually bright. "Have you ever tried the merchant with the stuffed dates? He sets up most evenings after sunfall... my favorites are the ones with candied walnuts..." Eik trails off longingly... He doesn't have much of a sweet tooth, but there are a few fine exceptions.
@
Bexley
Time makes fools of us all
