He doesn't feel obligated to her; he is not her servant or even a friend. Perhaps allies, unexpected allies, would be a more likely term. While Yael embodies all that is happy and pure Sinder feasts on the need for corruption and mayhem. His titles have been stripped away, leaving him bare and without a hope to stamp himself on this wretched world. This curse - his lack of a voice - hinders him more and more with every passing year. No longer is he that quiet prince that can more easily slip through the masses and press words into the skin of women. Now, he is an adult with a need for something greater. Mares are fearful; they jump away if he leans toward them to touch or form some statement. They are weak and misunderstanding. For that reason, Sinder has given up on most communication.
What sealed it was the Tundra when he could only stare as the other males congregated around him, waiting for an answer that would never come.
A snort of amusement quivers his nostrils as the fallen Queen mentions dreams. What would it be like to have such joy overwhelm him during his rest? With a shake of his head he thinks, No, only nightmares. There is no complaint or illness to his mental reply. It's an empty statement lacking a tied emotion. It fazes him not that he hasn't yet experienced true joy.
Father was killed. Mother disappeared. Sister faded away. Noori had others. He is no longer a prince.
What more is there? Everything has been stripped from him but still he continues on. It's all he can do even as he finds himself tightly tethered to the dunes because of his lack of responsibility or purpose anywhere else. Maybe Yael is another reason that he has remained here thus long; she is the only one who hasn't entirely abandoned him just yet, his unexpected ally.
The shadows of his eyes brighten subtly when she materializes in front of him. Rather than speak, the palomino matches his eternal silence. She still radiates the same essence of power, but Sinder notices the minute changes to her appearance. He doesn't comment on it, but simply nods his head. Telepathy, he muses with a casual roll of his muscular shoulders, because I enjoy the silence until I decide otherwise. Not everyone needs to know what lies in the crevices of his mind. With a physical voice (and how treacherous and frightening it would sound) the entire world would be able to overhear ideas, conversations, and ploys.
No, Sinder is much more secretive and quiet.
Being a mute his entire life has had its advantages.
Boredom is a pain, he inwardly comments with a sigh before slipping his gaze across the distant sand dunes.
|
