Find Me in the Horizon wandered.
When she reached the edge of the swamp, she turned back, and came the same way she had come, making soundless steps across the fading green grass of summer. It was slowly becoming sun-touched, the tips sliding into a burnt gold, and Horizon enjoyed the way that they felt, soft and familiar, against her hooves.
"You'll wear a hole in the ground if you keep doing that," Fierce Warrior remarked idly. He was curled beneath a large willow tree, basking in the shade and away from the bright heat that was shimmering back and forth through the trees. Everything was hazy, muddled, lazy; Fierce looked on the verge of falling asleep, his back pressed against the willow's trunk, eyes half-lidded, and his long, spiked tail was curled around one of his legs. He was watching her, though, with eyes that said he was anything but sleepy, something serious and intent in his gaze that Horizon didn't want to think too much about.
She didn't like serious. She didn't like staying in one place. She didn't like any of this.
"You'll be all right," said Fierce kindly, his voice gentle, and that too was something that Horizon didn't like. She ended her current pace towards the edge of the swamp and then turned back again, her tail flicking at her legs in a restless gesture that she was only partially aware of doing. Her stomach gave a queasy flip; she tried not to think about the reason for that.
"You will," said Fierce again, this time with a little more firmness behind his voice, as if he could tell that her mind was racing as much as her body wanted to. Beside him, a veritable menagerie of creatures were either sleeping or playing, some of them curled up against Fierce, others - like the shuppies - chasing one another in circles around the willow tree. Little paws thumped on dirt, birds trilled in the leaves, and for a few seconds Horizon felt as though she was falling.
"Tell me again," she said, and it was more of a demand than anything else. Fierce Warrior was unfazed by the tone of her voice, his expression still calm, still relaxed, and for that she was grateful. Her rudeness was one thing, because she knew she could be rude, but she wouldn't have been able to tolerate it if he had tried to make her feel guilty about it. Instead, it slipped off of him as easily and simply as water sluicing from the body of a fish.
"I bless your children with safety and health," said Fierce patiently, easily. "They will know your heart and know your life. You will learn them as much as they learn you, and I bless both of you with the ability to discern each other's emotions so that you can understand one another. And I bless you with happiness, because that is something all of us can use."
The last part he hadn't said before, and Horizon gave him a fleeting look, catching the faint smile in his eyes, the gentleness he radiated, before she began pacing again.
After a moment, a heartbeat that felt like a lifetime, she said quietly, "Thank you."
Fierce Warrior's smile was wider now, on the rest of his face.
"You're quite welcome."
When she reached the edge of the swamp, she turned back, and came the same way she had come, making soundless steps across the fading green grass of summer. It was slowly becoming sun-touched, the tips sliding into a burnt gold, and Horizon enjoyed the way that they felt, soft and familiar, against her hooves.
"You'll wear a hole in the ground if you keep doing that," Fierce Warrior remarked idly. He was curled beneath a large willow tree, basking in the shade and away from the bright heat that was shimmering back and forth through the trees. Everything was hazy, muddled, lazy; Fierce looked on the verge of falling asleep, his back pressed against the willow's trunk, eyes half-lidded, and his long, spiked tail was curled around one of his legs. He was watching her, though, with eyes that said he was anything but sleepy, something serious and intent in his gaze that Horizon didn't want to think too much about.
She didn't like serious. She didn't like staying in one place. She didn't like any of this.
"You'll be all right," said Fierce kindly, his voice gentle, and that too was something that Horizon didn't like. She ended her current pace towards the edge of the swamp and then turned back again, her tail flicking at her legs in a restless gesture that she was only partially aware of doing. Her stomach gave a queasy flip; she tried not to think about the reason for that.
"You will," said Fierce again, this time with a little more firmness behind his voice, as if he could tell that her mind was racing as much as her body wanted to. Beside him, a veritable menagerie of creatures were either sleeping or playing, some of them curled up against Fierce, others - like the shuppies - chasing one another in circles around the willow tree. Little paws thumped on dirt, birds trilled in the leaves, and for a few seconds Horizon felt as though she was falling.
"Tell me again," she said, and it was more of a demand than anything else. Fierce Warrior was unfazed by the tone of her voice, his expression still calm, still relaxed, and for that she was grateful. Her rudeness was one thing, because she knew she could be rude, but she wouldn't have been able to tolerate it if he had tried to make her feel guilty about it. Instead, it slipped off of him as easily and simply as water sluicing from the body of a fish.
"I bless your children with safety and health," said Fierce patiently, easily. "They will know your heart and know your life. You will learn them as much as they learn you, and I bless both of you with the ability to discern each other's emotions so that you can understand one another. And I bless you with happiness, because that is something all of us can use."
The last part he hadn't said before, and Horizon gave him a fleeting look, catching the faint smile in his eyes, the gentleness he radiated, before she began pacing again.
After a moment, a heartbeat that felt like a lifetime, she said quietly, "Thank you."
Fierce Warrior's smile was wider now, on the rest of his face.
"You're quite welcome."