Oh! There were more soap leaves nearby! She hadn't expected them to be so readily available--surely something so useful and practical was guarded with a close and careful eye--but it was such a pleasant surprise, and already Phoebe began looking for them. From her vantage point in the waterfall's basin, it was a little hard to spot them, what with Jarek taking up half her vision and the large stones of the waterfall encompassing a majority of the rest, but she thought she saw little sprigs of green in the same shape and color as those that the beautiful stallion had given her. Likely they would need a closer look to confirm they were one and the same, but she made a mental note of the direction for whenever she decided to leave. Which, she hoped, wouldn't be anytime soon.The little sunset mare gave a decisive nod to herself, committing the plant's location to memory, when she caught the sound of water moving, and looking back toward the burly soldier she felt her body freeze seeing him drift nearer. She watched as the water easily parted for him, the shadow of his figure almost casting her in entirely in its shade, and her eyes drifted up, up, to take in the gentleness of his focused expression. She could see even more clearly now how the water reflected the sunlight, causing his dark coat to glitter, and the varying shades of ice and sky that made up his eyes. Phoebe felt all over again just how small she was, how fragile and dainty and delicate, beside this towering Adonis of a stallion. But--thankfully--she didn't feel threatened by his size, didn't feel intimidated or worried for herself by his nearness. Soldier or not, he still carried himself with an air of dignity and grace, of calm intent that made her curious if not outright expectant.
Let me show you. Whatever she'd been expecting, the little bit of contact upon her mane startled her, eliciting a short gasp. She looked up, expecting to see some source of the sensation, something clearly but gently gathering up bits of her deep purple mane, but there was nothing--nothing except a look of intention upon Jarek's face. He's doing this, she realized belatedly, drawing her mane back, combing through it, gathering it so that it didn't lay plastered against her neck with dampness or billow in the water where it lay in the pool. She could only stare at him, awestruck, as it occurred to her that he was touching her, not directly but all the same, this gorgeous, godlike stallion pampering her as if she might be somehow worthy of such an honor. In that moment, she felt like a goddess herself.
Her eyes closed again, blissfully, and a slow, gentle sigh released from her pale muzzle. Easily, she began to relax into his touch, delighting in knowing it was him that she felt, even if it wasn't, and her ears twitched once when he began his story. It felt absolutely surreal, to stand there while he tended to her, spinning for her a tale of his youth, his history. It began so simply, far too simply, making clear that, no matter how godlike he looked, his origins were still very mortal, though one suspicion was laid to rest. His father was a leader, guiding the herd he'd previously claimed, and he'd been the heir. A prince! No wonder his manner was so dignified. No wonder he valued beauty alongside strength, and could be gentle in such a moment as this while battle scars hid just below the surface. It made Jarek all the more appealing.
The story took a darker turn, unexpectedly, and learning of his father's death, at his own hands no less, startled her out of her reverie, dissolving some of the magic that surrounded the moment and grounding Phoebe suddenly in the harsh realities of their world. Her eyes opened, mouth slightly agape, the news shocking her and filling her with a burst of sympathy for the beautiful stallion. Murderer. The word ghosted through her thoughts, haunting, and while one part of her recognized that, technically, this was the man standing beside her, it was difficult to see him as a monster. Wasn't death a part of a soldier's life? Wasn't war sometimes a gross and tragic thing, riddled with loss and pain and difficult choices? It was so easy sometimes to forget, especially as she was barely dipping her toe into that lifestyle. It was a harsh awakening for Phoebe, who tended to glamorize it all.
And yet the sympathy remained, the hurt she felt at seeing echoes of those conflicting choices still ringing within Jarek's face, still haunting his eyes. The urge to reach out to him, to touch him, to console him, built up in her chest, welling, cresting, but he moved again before she could give in to the impulse. The brush of his hide against hers, searing and solid, made her breath catch in her throat, distracting her entirely from the conversation for a brief moment as her tail was gathered up, drawn into the same binds as her mane. She felt a little fuzzy, a lot giddy, as she drew in a slow breath to calm herself and attempted to answer his questions. "Not-"--she paused, cleared her throat, tried again--"not much." A little nervous laugh. "We didn't believe in anyone like that where I'm from. I didn't know of any gods until I came here, actually. Apparently I look something like Vespera." She laughed again and shook her head flippantly at the statement, feeling the weight of her mane gently bounce against her neck at the movement. "Who would have guessed, right?"
But even as she spoke of herself, even divulging that little bit, made her curious why it was Jarek had brought up the gods in the first place. Her magenta eyes became curious again, concerned even, as she angled her head to peer back at him while he worked. Gently, softly, she asked, "What happened?"
