G A R E T H
Gareth’s mind was buzzing, anger flickering in his belly as he repeated in his head the words that Pangaea had shared with him before the trek became dangerous. It angered him that there were beings in this world that did not know the difference between right and wrong. That they did not know when to let be, that in their pursuit of knowledge that the destruction of others was seen as almost a necessity. In some part, he was glad for the mountain pass’s treachery. It had forced him to stay focused on leading Pangaea safely through the craggy corridors and past open chasms as the snow continued to blanket the world around them.
Still, he could not shake their early conversation. The thick sorrow that had choked her vocals as she pleaded with him not to be seen as a monster. Not so unlike Salome when she had returned to him a second time. The anger mixed with betrayal and grief deep in his barrel, twisting his stomach into tight knots. Salome had left him again, so soon after speaking such sweet words to soothe the ache in his heart after having abandoned him for the second time in their lives together. It had made him bitter, even if he was not quite yet ready to admit it to himself. It hardened his heart in an effort to protect him from the inevitable shattering that would follow if he allowed himself to indulge such things. It was why he had chosen to throw himself into his work, after all. Why he had chosen to seek out Luvena and apologize, to offer aide to her and her clinic as needed through the winter. That desire to bury his hurt and let it rot had fueled his need to heal others, and it was that same hurt that simmered below the surface now. Pangaea and Salome were not the same people, and he had already made peace with himself that the warrior woman would leave him once she was healed- hadn’t he?
He recounted her sparse words about her treatment, his imagination having filled in the rest with volatile images of masked and cloaked figures keeping the mare in chains, cutting at her flesh and jeering in an effort to goad her into some false response for their amusement. Tests and experiments she had said, but they both knew that what she had meant to say was torture. She had been held captive, tortured and made to believe that she was a foul creature to be exterminated. The stallion grit his teeth, focusing on clearing the snow in front of him as he forced himself to breathe control back into his lungs.
Pangaea did not know that she was beautiful. Perhaps not by the standards of others, perhaps not by the beliefs even he had once clung to as a boy. Salome had been so, after all; slender, delicate, almost small enough to cradle like a child in his arms. She had been that kind of beauty once. Now, she was hollow, wherever she was; broken, but still beautiful, in that achingly lonely way. He dismissed her visage from his mind with an irritated flick of his audits.
The words the reptilian mare had used to describe herself, wild, chaotic, terms that she had spoken as if they were a curse laid upon her rung in his ears. These things were a gift. Her strength, resilience, her freedom, and the long forgotten joy in the very pride of her being, these were gifts. And the shit of the world had crawled from the depths, dragged her through the wretched sewage and convinced her that she was not the most gorgeous creature to have ever graced this earth.
Gareth had never been one to stand by while a woman was treated poorly. Chivalrous would be an apt term for it, but he had always seen it as so much more. His grandmother had taught him the strength of mares, how their bodies warp and break and form life in their bellies. How their spirit was gentle, even in the most outwardly vicious of appearances. She had taught him respect, and to raise up those around him. The thought of some distant ‘other’ whose sole purpose was to destroy these things filled him with a cool fire, the kind of rage which could force the world to stand still if unleashed. He swallowed hard, grateful that their climb had pushed her to his flank so that she did not see the ugly hatred that twisted his features.
When Gareth had decided to heal Pangaea of her wounds, it had only been the wounds of her flesh he’d been concerned with. Now, after having spent several days traveling with her, he could see that he had a choice before him, the answer clear. He could heal her legs, and nothing more. He could make sure that she would walk and fly again, and then have her be on her way. But he wouldn’t; he couldn’t.
The gold vial, while cold against his flesh, felt briefly warm as he considered the will of his grandmother. The warrior needed healing of the body, mind and soul. The stallion had resolved himself of that on their expedition to his cave already. He just needed to work through his anger, first. Anger was not an emotional salve to apply liberally to any wound. Like any other healing tool, it was to be used with great consideration and care. It would do him no good to show her this ugliness he felt on her behalf. It would be insulting at best, and it may scare her at worst. She had, after all, followed him deep into the snowy mountains. It would not be too far of a leap for her to assume the anger was directed at her specifically and it would undo what progress they had made in forming trust. It would shatter like glass.
The trail had begun to open up ahead of them, and soon they were able to walk at each other’s side once more. “Yes,” he rasped, clearing his throat before venturing to speak again. “You see that next hill? Once we cross that, the cave will be on the other side.”
His pace quickened, now that they had the room to move about more freely, the feathers at his hooves having gathered clumps of muddy snow during their ascent. His pelt shivered in anticipation, rippling through his body like a wave. It did not take long for them to crest this final obstacle before unveiling the landscape on the other side.
Before them stood an open valley, sloping gently down before widening further into dense pine trees. To the left of them were the frozen remnants of a waterfall that had run nearly dry in the fall before the temperatures plummeted to ice. Behind this curtain of glass in motion lay the mouth of a fairly large cave. It was difficult to gauge at this distance how deep into the mountain it burrowed, but suffice to say it clear that it would hold both of them rather comfortably. He nodded to the cave. “There it is,” he said, masking the pain he felt at seeing it once more in this state. Was he cursed to live his life on this mountain in this blasted cave every winter for eternity? It was beginning to feel like it.
“Come on, let’s get you inside and up off of those legs. I’ll start a fire.”
Still, he could not shake their early conversation. The thick sorrow that had choked her vocals as she pleaded with him not to be seen as a monster. Not so unlike Salome when she had returned to him a second time. The anger mixed with betrayal and grief deep in his barrel, twisting his stomach into tight knots. Salome had left him again, so soon after speaking such sweet words to soothe the ache in his heart after having abandoned him for the second time in their lives together. It had made him bitter, even if he was not quite yet ready to admit it to himself. It hardened his heart in an effort to protect him from the inevitable shattering that would follow if he allowed himself to indulge such things. It was why he had chosen to throw himself into his work, after all. Why he had chosen to seek out Luvena and apologize, to offer aide to her and her clinic as needed through the winter. That desire to bury his hurt and let it rot had fueled his need to heal others, and it was that same hurt that simmered below the surface now. Pangaea and Salome were not the same people, and he had already made peace with himself that the warrior woman would leave him once she was healed- hadn’t he?
He recounted her sparse words about her treatment, his imagination having filled in the rest with volatile images of masked and cloaked figures keeping the mare in chains, cutting at her flesh and jeering in an effort to goad her into some false response for their amusement. Tests and experiments she had said, but they both knew that what she had meant to say was torture. She had been held captive, tortured and made to believe that she was a foul creature to be exterminated. The stallion grit his teeth, focusing on clearing the snow in front of him as he forced himself to breathe control back into his lungs.
Pangaea did not know that she was beautiful. Perhaps not by the standards of others, perhaps not by the beliefs even he had once clung to as a boy. Salome had been so, after all; slender, delicate, almost small enough to cradle like a child in his arms. She had been that kind of beauty once. Now, she was hollow, wherever she was; broken, but still beautiful, in that achingly lonely way. He dismissed her visage from his mind with an irritated flick of his audits.
The words the reptilian mare had used to describe herself, wild, chaotic, terms that she had spoken as if they were a curse laid upon her rung in his ears. These things were a gift. Her strength, resilience, her freedom, and the long forgotten joy in the very pride of her being, these were gifts. And the shit of the world had crawled from the depths, dragged her through the wretched sewage and convinced her that she was not the most gorgeous creature to have ever graced this earth.
Gareth had never been one to stand by while a woman was treated poorly. Chivalrous would be an apt term for it, but he had always seen it as so much more. His grandmother had taught him the strength of mares, how their bodies warp and break and form life in their bellies. How their spirit was gentle, even in the most outwardly vicious of appearances. She had taught him respect, and to raise up those around him. The thought of some distant ‘other’ whose sole purpose was to destroy these things filled him with a cool fire, the kind of rage which could force the world to stand still if unleashed. He swallowed hard, grateful that their climb had pushed her to his flank so that she did not see the ugly hatred that twisted his features.
When Gareth had decided to heal Pangaea of her wounds, it had only been the wounds of her flesh he’d been concerned with. Now, after having spent several days traveling with her, he could see that he had a choice before him, the answer clear. He could heal her legs, and nothing more. He could make sure that she would walk and fly again, and then have her be on her way. But he wouldn’t; he couldn’t.
The gold vial, while cold against his flesh, felt briefly warm as he considered the will of his grandmother. The warrior needed healing of the body, mind and soul. The stallion had resolved himself of that on their expedition to his cave already. He just needed to work through his anger, first. Anger was not an emotional salve to apply liberally to any wound. Like any other healing tool, it was to be used with great consideration and care. It would do him no good to show her this ugliness he felt on her behalf. It would be insulting at best, and it may scare her at worst. She had, after all, followed him deep into the snowy mountains. It would not be too far of a leap for her to assume the anger was directed at her specifically and it would undo what progress they had made in forming trust. It would shatter like glass.
The trail had begun to open up ahead of them, and soon they were able to walk at each other’s side once more. “Yes,” he rasped, clearing his throat before venturing to speak again. “You see that next hill? Once we cross that, the cave will be on the other side.”
His pace quickened, now that they had the room to move about more freely, the feathers at his hooves having gathered clumps of muddy snow during their ascent. His pelt shivered in anticipation, rippling through his body like a wave. It did not take long for them to crest this final obstacle before unveiling the landscape on the other side.
Before them stood an open valley, sloping gently down before widening further into dense pine trees. To the left of them were the frozen remnants of a waterfall that had run nearly dry in the fall before the temperatures plummeted to ice. Behind this curtain of glass in motion lay the mouth of a fairly large cave. It was difficult to gauge at this distance how deep into the mountain it burrowed, but suffice to say it clear that it would hold both of them rather comfortably. He nodded to the cave. “There it is,” he said, masking the pain he felt at seeing it once more in this state. Was he cursed to live his life on this mountain in this blasted cave every winter for eternity? It was beginning to feel like it.
“Come on, let’s get you inside and up off of those legs. I’ll start a fire.”
"Speech" | | @Pangaea |
