i am capable of anything, BERGAMOT

[Bergamot]

Bergamot My silence is a roar... Bergamot doesn't shy away from her shame, but observes her with the stern, patient expression of a judge.  Is he judging her?  Perhaps so, it seems petty somehow, but he can't help but feel resentment.  For being lied to.  For being left behind.  For being made a fool of.  Her intentions aside, his heart seemed to curl inward like a wounded caterpillar.  How he longed for her to say something, to explain herself, to justify his anger or assuage it.  He's soothed himself and prepared to listen to what she has to say but when she does finally speak it's so unlike what he expected that he jumps back. Hazel eyes wide in wonder, his ears pinned to his head before turning sharply towards her like dowsing rods.  Can she hear me?  His thoughts are as loud as always but still not directed towards her, he isn't used to thinking that way.  Moving closer, his fine masculine features almost touching her impossibly graceful feminine ones, he tries to catch her eye.  The whole thing is so amazing and frustrating that he actually nips at her neck and digs one forehoof into the earth, leaving a raw wound in the grass.   What picture could he show her to express himself?  Colors swirl around on his body like ink dropped into water.  It was pretty to look at, but only a product of his exasperation.  Finally he simply settled on the first image he'd shown her.  He had gotten better in the months since he'd last seen her and so the sunrise on his pelt was so perfect he might have been a horse shaped piece of fallen sky.  A small symbol, hidden just for her blossomed on his body where her golden, royal mark did, a lusciously dark calla lily.  He would reserve judgement, his pale eyes looking at her with a clarity and maturity that made him appear a hundred years old rather than his scant two years.  Show me.  Keep your promise.