He couldn't believe the tone he had taken. Was his own voice acting in mutiny now, too, along with his mind? Perhaps his self-imposed isolation had been far too long. It was like hearing a stranger's voice forming the words.
Ainlif tilted his head as she planted her feet more firmly beneath her, his hard gaze following the movement carefully. Her muscles were tensed and ready for flight if the need should arise. She was no doubt prepared to do just that if he overstepped some specific boundary of safety she had erected within her mind. He'd have to tread carefully. Well, he would if he gave a damn. Did he? He wasn't sure; that particular battle still raged on in his subconscious, ignored for the time being.
She hadn't responded yet, considering him. She probably doubted his intentions. She was wise to. He wasn't too sure of them, himself. Her eyes took in the sight of him, all of him. He felt oddly uneasy under her gaze, like she could see into his soul. Some kind of angel peering through a microscope at the wee lesser beings of the world, stripping away their masks and inspecting them for who they were deep down, laying bare their mistakes and ill deeds. His mistakes and ill deeds. He suddenly felt vulnerable under her scrutiny, and it gripped his chest in a painful vise. His body stiffened.
His ears flipped back and his stare hardened. He threw up reinforcements to the metaphoric walls within him. Here she was probably fearing for her life, and yet he felt like he was the one in the most danger here.
"I don't know where I am. I just woke up here."
She stammered uncertainly, her voice wavering. He felt a little safer some how with the confirmation that he was the danger in her mind, the unpredictable element. He couldn't let her grasp how she was effecting him thus far. What the hell was wrong with him, anyway? His mourning in isolation had seriously screwed with his mind, clearly. He should've booted his own rear end much sooner.
Part of him felt the need to help her, someone obviously in need of assistance. But the other, louder part of him screamed for him to run and get the hell away from her. It was best that way. It was safer for both of them. And then there she was; the haunting image of his daughter. A guilty conscience manifested. She stood next to the mare; just standing and staring at him accusingly. His mouth went dry, and he tossed his head down as a rasping cough dragged roughly through him. It sounded so odd, like the roar of a much different animal; an animal in pain.
Not here, Kinley, not now, he thought desperately. His throat ached with the lump of heartache that formed there. He dared not show his pain or the woman would witness his insanity now and flee. Would that be a good thing or a bad thing? He didn't want to consider what that question meant, as if now maybe he suddenly cared what others thought of him. He ducked his head and his face pinched. Perhaps Kinley was here to make him atone for his sins. Maybe all he had to do was help this mare and he'd be free. He just wanted to be free of her; free of the heartbreak he had to endure each time she appeared to him. He could do this.
Ainlif took deep stabilizing breaths, wheezing softly. The sweat blanketing him felt congealed as the air began to cool, preparing for winter. It felt thick and sticky against his skin, and he suddenly felt very much in need of a dip. It had absolutely nothing to do with the living girl and what she thought of his appearance, he was sure. He took a moment to consider her words again. She didn't know where she was and she had just woken up here. Was it possible she was a sleepwalker maybe? She couldn't live too far away then if that was the case. If so, maybe he wasn't as crazy as he thought. He certainly didn't sleepwalk. Damn, that was rude.
So consumed in his little panic attack, he had no idea if she was even still standing there. He was so set to avoid her gaze that he didn't even check, didn't want to. He didn't want to see what expression she would have at his madness, were she still near. If she had stayed and followed him, did that make her mad too? He wasn't sure. He didn't know her at all but somehow it didn't feel fair to even think that way about her. He had no idea what she went through, maybe it was more than simple sleepwalking.
Without sparing even a glance, he turned back the way he had come, head still lowered in shame of his past transgressions and the lack of confidence that seemed to have taken over him. He had just passed some sort of shallow creek not too many miles out, but hadn't felt this dirty at the time. He would go there and rinse off. And take her too, if she was still around. Then maybe he'd figure out who she was and where she was from. Perhaps try to point her in the right direction if he knew it.
"Come," he tossed impassively over his shoulder at the shadows behind him. "I need water, and you could probably use some too." Then he began walking, not allowing himself to look for her, but listening intently for the sounds of her following and trying to ignore that involuntary hopeful feeling that was creeping up on him. Why did he care, anyway?