06-09-2017, 08:40 PM
An enemy who gets in, risks the danger of becoming a friend.
Spark leaves him more and more; prefers to be left alone to the fire that runs beneath her fur. On occasion, she has burnt him and professed her love and an apology in a quick breath then disappeared, as if ashamed or secretly glad - he’s not sure which, not any more and he used to know her best, even better than her beloved Giver did. He cannot help the way his upper lip stiffens and curls upward at the thought of the stallion; Spark has not seen him, and he thinks Giver is the reason she harbors all this anger and this new fire that she sheds her skin for more and more.
It seems to work, he stops thinking about Spark long enough to start thinking about how the waves rise and fall like her ribcage did with every breath she took. He snorts, in dire need of a distraction from thinking about another mare in another place in a time that seems so very far from here.
Things are not as they had been when Spear and Spark were the same - just horses, bound by that and more, the bonds of twinship and ordinariness and now, now there is just this growing gulf of difference that pushes them further apart. It makes him think of the hills, now something else altogether and less interesting to him and thinking of that makes him remember his time elsewhere, far from here, and eyes in a face as long and roman as his own. Eyes that had seen as much as him, and maybe more; that saw into him and right through him even beneath all the hair that fell across her face whenever the wind blew between them, swirling their scents together until he couldn’t tell them apart from the plains beneath their feet. His mismatched eyes close in fond remembrance for but a moment, then open again to the shadow of the volcano that looms over him.
He turns his back to it, hot winds blowing his black tail against his thick hind legs as he moves down towards the sea. At least the sound of it might be enough to drown out his own thoughts for the time being, or so he hopes. He’s never liked the sea much, too rough and tempestuous for his tastes, kind of like how Spark is now. Spear grunts as he nears it, his feet throwing wet grains of sand up and away from him. He can hear the small clumps of it peppering the shoreline and beyond, the break of the waves that pounds much like his pulse in his ears.
spear