She was a strange creature who spoke little, her dark eyes watching him with the sort of wary distrust that Fierce had only seen on those who had been haunted by the world. He had tried, at first, to greet her with the same genial voice and softened words that he did for everyone (or at least tried to) but she had skirted his attempts and gone to hide at the top of the tree, glowering down at him.
She was surprisingly agile. Fierce had looked up at her and seen the glittering gaze and the swishing tail (ominously indicative of a creature ready to pounce) and he had wondered, not for the first time, if he was making a mistake here. Clearly she had no interest in either speaking with him nor being around him altogether; it didn't take a genius to figure that out, and in spite of the fact that he wasn't the pushy sort (the opposite, if he was being truly honest with himself), he had stayed.
He didn't know why he had stayed. She was still up in the tree (it really was quite impressive that she'd managed to get up there with nothing but her hooves and an intense determination to avoid him) and he was still down below, and it was hours later and nothing had changed. But alongside her dislike of his company and the waves of distrust rolling off of the acha in waves, Fierce had read something in her expression that had stopped him before he'd left. He wasn't sure whether to call it naivete or idiocy (perhaps a mix of both) but he had thought he saw fear; a certain kind of fear that was more subtle than most, crawling up slowly from the ground until it had settled in your chest and made it hard to breathe.
Maybe it was because he had recognized that fear as his own. Maybe it was because he remembered what it was like to wake and wonder what you were doing, what you were supposed to be doing, and whether you were even doing it right at all. Maybe it was because he had felt that kind of fear before, eating away at him, always pressing in from the sides like it was meant to suffocate him.
So he had stayed and she was still up there and he was still down here and nothing had changed, except that maybe it had grown quieter now that night had fallen. Somewhere in the distance, a cricket chirped relentlessly, a familiar sound that both soothed and relaxed him.
"I'm sorry that you're afraid," Fierce said eventually, and didn't look at her, his legs curled beneath him, hooves tucked out of site. Beside him, Sharp Eyes was pacing, her paws making soft sounds on the gently rustling grass. "I'm sorry that you feel alone."
A pause. "I'm sorry that I'm making all of these assumptions about you," he added. "I don't know you. But I heard your call, so I'm here."
There was another pause. Wind made Fierce's hair brush against his face, teasing his neck.
"Your children will be blessed with the knowledge that their mother did all that she could to provide them a happy and safe life," said Fierce, his voice soft, but firm. "They will be blessed with the reminder that they are protected and done so out of a desire to have them grow up confident in themselves and their strengths and their weaknesses. You don't have to be afraid; they will know you and you them."
He waited, but there was only silence that met him, and the soft swishing of a tail. Fierce gave a nod, then slowly stood, legs unfolding from beneath him and he made a small wince, trying to shake out the tingles that had started from staying in the same position too long.
"Call me if you need me," he said, and left.
Up in the tree, dark eyes watched his departure. Then, slowly, quietly, she came down, her hooved legs not built for easy climbing and yet she still managed it, with more grace and ease than most. She stood there, silent, and then, at long last, disappeared into the reeds.
She was surprisingly agile. Fierce had looked up at her and seen the glittering gaze and the swishing tail (ominously indicative of a creature ready to pounce) and he had wondered, not for the first time, if he was making a mistake here. Clearly she had no interest in either speaking with him nor being around him altogether; it didn't take a genius to figure that out, and in spite of the fact that he wasn't the pushy sort (the opposite, if he was being truly honest with himself), he had stayed.
He didn't know why he had stayed. She was still up in the tree (it really was quite impressive that she'd managed to get up there with nothing but her hooves and an intense determination to avoid him) and he was still down below, and it was hours later and nothing had changed. But alongside her dislike of his company and the waves of distrust rolling off of the acha in waves, Fierce had read something in her expression that had stopped him before he'd left. He wasn't sure whether to call it naivete or idiocy (perhaps a mix of both) but he had thought he saw fear; a certain kind of fear that was more subtle than most, crawling up slowly from the ground until it had settled in your chest and made it hard to breathe.
Maybe it was because he had recognized that fear as his own. Maybe it was because he remembered what it was like to wake and wonder what you were doing, what you were supposed to be doing, and whether you were even doing it right at all. Maybe it was because he had felt that kind of fear before, eating away at him, always pressing in from the sides like it was meant to suffocate him.
So he had stayed and she was still up there and he was still down here and nothing had changed, except that maybe it had grown quieter now that night had fallen. Somewhere in the distance, a cricket chirped relentlessly, a familiar sound that both soothed and relaxed him.
"I'm sorry that you're afraid," Fierce said eventually, and didn't look at her, his legs curled beneath him, hooves tucked out of site. Beside him, Sharp Eyes was pacing, her paws making soft sounds on the gently rustling grass. "I'm sorry that you feel alone."
A pause. "I'm sorry that I'm making all of these assumptions about you," he added. "I don't know you. But I heard your call, so I'm here."
There was another pause. Wind made Fierce's hair brush against his face, teasing his neck.
"Your children will be blessed with the knowledge that their mother did all that she could to provide them a happy and safe life," said Fierce, his voice soft, but firm. "They will be blessed with the reminder that they are protected and done so out of a desire to have them grow up confident in themselves and their strengths and their weaknesses. You don't have to be afraid; they will know you and you them."
He waited, but there was only silence that met him, and the soft swishing of a tail. Fierce gave a nod, then slowly stood, legs unfolding from beneath him and he made a small wince, trying to shake out the tingles that had started from staying in the same position too long.
"Call me if you need me," he said, and left.
Up in the tree, dark eyes watched his departure. Then, slowly, quietly, she came down, her hooved legs not built for easy climbing and yet she still managed it, with more grace and ease than most. She stood there, silent, and then, at long last, disappeared into the reeds.