baby i'm from New York

[Manhattan]

I feel like I know you-
 
And indeed, she did. She was looking at a male version of herself. A darker, more angular, even perhaps larger version of herself. She was as reckless as she was beautiful, touched by magic and yet she walked on this earth as a mere mortal. Manhattan tossed his head and cut her off as she was walking. He noticed that they were heading North. Further into the cold, further into deeper snow that did not retreat with the seasons, even though by now it was late summer in other parts of these lands.
 
He snorted, the plumes of his warm breath taking wing towards the heavens. Blinking, his long dark lashes partially obscured his eyes as he found that he could not meet her face, but still he spoke, the velvet tendrils of his voice weaving their way through her hair and around her body, as if enveloping her in a hug, if it were possible to do so. “I will say this much, you are very much the daughter of October. And I know that I miss her so very, very much.”
 
He had not meant to be so blunt. He had not meant to enter these lands, much less stay. And he had not meant to meet her, much less tell her about himself. But now he found, that he could not be parted from her again. If home is where the heart is, then it was time to start building.
 
Because he would not be leaving any time soon.
 
 

MANHATTAN

Baby, I'm from New York,
Concrete jungle where dreams are made of;
there's nothing you can't do.

[Oakheart]

Her mother's name is sharp against her skin like a fine blade. It cuts the scar tissue that is her heart, sewn with thick black cord. The amber of her eyes shoot to the face of the liver chestnut stallion and grip him. Her mother's name on a stranger's lips chills her bones and causes a shiver.

October. The gentle creature. The soft hearted. Oak still remained severely protective of the mustang woman though October had been gone for some time. Oak imagined her among the wildflowers of a far off place and finally awarded with her long deserved happiness (Oak blamed herself when she was younger for the buckskin mare's distress, never anyone else).

Though he intended to cut her off, Oak finds her own stopping point as she looks to the stallion. The small frost cloud of words that was nearly as delicate as her mother. Manhattan says he misses her and another strike knocks her backward. Confusion crosses the chiseled features, contorting and brows falling low as she scrutinizes him but she does not act irrationally. Instead she takes his words, analyses them and returns with her own findings. "Me too." It's all she can say but her body releases from it's tension that had been building on her shoulders, heavier and heavier.

A sigh fills the cracks in her voice, the confusion. Oak looks to meet his face again and she knows...why would he say her mother's name? Missing her?

"Welcome home, dad." The pale mare, the wildling, moves to embrace the man (though rigid and awkward at first) she softens against him, her neck around his.

Oakheart

Manhattan x October