IPOMOEA
somedays i am wild child
H
e watches her face as she answers, and thinks of the way each line and angle reminds him of the way that waves look where they meet the horizon line. Her eyes have a damp look to them, and when she blinks he half expects to see saltwater running like tears down her cheeks. But he’s never known Isra to cry; so he knows he shouldn’t be surprised when she fixes him with a stare that is a little bit sharp and a little bit sad.
Where she leaves hoofprints encased in gold, flowers bloom beneath his hooves when he follows her. They make a trail, two trails, from the willow tree to the water, emblazoned side by side as the land remembers who and what they are.
"Yes."
Even before the waves turn to glass, he’s imagining what the lake floor might look like, and he’s comparing it to an ocean floor that he’s never seen before. The surface of it all cracks beneath his hooves, and when he peers down he thinks he might see kelp waving at him from below. But it’s dark and it’s moving and he thinks it might be less a plant and more a beast.
But whatever it is, he also thinks it would catch him if he asked it to. So he walks alongside her towards the drowned tree, and for once he isn’t afraid to think of how deep the shadows might be. He thinks only of the great and terrible things that hide in them, of the way they pull at his heart in a way that even he doesn’t yet understand.
And he thinks of the dagger that reforms itself to his thoughts, and how he doesn’t need to wonder if it’s his friend or his foe.
@isra | "speaks" | notes: <3
