06-22-2017, 09:14 PM
The afternoon found them grooming one another, head to hip.
“Hello,” they say in unison.
Spear & Spark
He chewed on her back in circular patterns but found little in the way of dirt or dust to remove from her pale fur.
She combed her teeth through his mane, working out a particularly tough knot that refused to come undone but she kept it and met with success when her small whiskery nose smoothed the wavy locks of hair down his neck.
It is a rare moment for them to be like this, quiet and attentive to one another. Not too rare, but each has their reasons for keeping to themselves and little do they venture out together. Both of them can remember being inseparable inside the womb and out, until Spear felt the itch to go exploring. He begged her to go with him but she’d had adventures of her own here, built bonds that kept her rooted and unsure of leaving. Still, she’d given in to him and off they’d gone until coming to a fork in the trail -- neither could make the same decision, so each made a separate one and that was the beginning of the end for them.
She came back long before he did, found love and lost it.
He found something out on the plains, but he never did tell her about it.
Then she’d gotten sick, and changed - discovered the fire inside her, and from then on, she’d been more independent of him than he cared for. But this afternoon finds them together, head to hip, heart to heart. Their beneficial grooming comes to an end and they set off in stride, side by side as they always used to be and for now, are again. The meadow is for them, a familiar haunt and this time, they are keen to claim one of her knolls for themselves but the one they’ve chosen happens to be occupied or so says the feathers that bob upwind of them on currents of air or imagination…
“Could it be?” he asks her.
“No, doesn’t smell like her.” she replies.
Spear tilts his nose upwards and sucks in a draught of air; he determines it is not their mother after all, those are not the same feathers they found in her hair. Still, he is intrigued and so is Spark who touches her nose to his neck in an encouraging manner. He takes the hint and leads her up the knoll whereupon they discover a reddish mare intent on the goings-on in the meadow. That explains the bobbing feathers; her head moved so much to keep up with the flux of horses coming and going, her ears never still as she listened to all the sounds that she could, and she was small - unlike their mother who matched Spear in height, but who made Spark seem so small in comparison.