IRA
a moment in existence is all we ever are
like shadows cast upon the ground
watching a setting sun
I
didn’t mean to startle you—“ Ira’s voice becomes lost to the sea, the sand, the surf. He cringes at the clear fright he has caused, interrupting their solitude. Ira does not typically feel small. At sixteen hands, he possesses a slender stature and overall respectable height; athletic and lithe. He does not expect to feel so small besides Cicatrix when the distance between them closes but he does. The uncanniness of the moment makes Ira smile; he feels surprised, and surprise does not often overcome Ira.
Yes. You must be Ira.
They, too, appear taken aback. Ira supposes must be due to his arrival being unexpected. Rather than pressure them with the intensity of his gaze, Ira glances away, toward the ocean.
“I am. It is a pleasure, Cicatrix.” Ira picks his brain of what he knows. “If I am remembering correctly, you are a scholar?”
Ira smiles, glancing again at Cicatrix. He registers, of course, their unique appearance—he has never seen an equine quite like them. He might have felt more unnerved, had he not spent years in the forests of Novus, bearing witness to many strange things. Ira does not expect the compliment they give; he laughs abashedly, almost breathlessly, and mutters out: “O-oh. Thank you.”
After a moment, Ira suggests: “Would you like to continue walking? I did not mean to interrupt.”
Ira then falls in step besides Cicatrix as they begin down the long stretch of sand. “There is nothing to apologize for. I come here often to think. Is that why you were out alone?”
