Time held me green and dying / Though I sang in my chains like the sea
She stares into his hardened gaze with all disgust, no pity for the delusional. He has come to her crying with his loneliness, his dry hooves, only to look down at her with that old-dream face.
When he speaks, her lip curls into a sneer, up, up, up, into a furious snarl. She laughs, once, like the cracking of a whip. He won’t meet her eyes. He won’t even stand too close, backing away, his hoof just touching the sea like it’s hot, even knowing that it lives in his heart. A fool. Saphira advances on him until they are nose to nose, standing in the water, back to the horizon. ”’She cares’,” she whines mockingly. ”You don’t believe that. Look me in the eyes and tell me she cares.” Her voice grows louder, as a wave or rolling thunder. ”If she cared, why would she leave us to die on the land, like mortals? Why would she-“
The whip cracks again, louder, only in her mind. She sees his face and knows who he looks like, sounds like, sounds exactly like and oh, how could she not have noticed before? The old-dream face, that’s what it is.
Her ears pin, but she stays where she is, close enough to rustle the hair on his chin with her breath.
It can’t be him, no, it isn’t, mustn’t be, but gods, don’t they look alike? Don’t they sound alike? Don’t they have gold burned into their flesh like some masterpiece of pain?
Oh, they do.
Her lips tremble and her brows knit together. She can’t say it, can she? He wouldn’t know. He can’t know. He’s just some idiot like her, body on land, soul lost at sea.
@Orestes || Fern Hill
