He is beginning to feel different now. Whether it is the sharp, frigid air of the forest that made him feel thin (almost stretched) or if it was the slow and steady march of his grief, he couldn’t tell. Either way, it didn’t matter. All he knew was that he felt breakable, as if even the smallest of breezes would cause him to crumble. He ignores the feeling, as he has done since the beginning, unaware that he would eventually (and inevitably) crack.
But today was not that day. In fact, besides the pit in his stomach that never ceases gnawing, Warrick was rather enjoying his adventure away from Tephra and his conversation with the dark brown mare.
He tosses his head with chuckle, black tendrils falling haphazardly as they came to settle across his mahogany neck and face. Dark blue eyes peer curiously out from beneath the black heap of forelock that had just come to rest across his nose. “Everybody runs – it’s an innate response,” he responds coolly, “though I have a feeling you’re not one to run.” Here, a crack of a smile runs across navy lips.
Warrick finally has a name to put to the face, and though he was anticipating hearing her name, he was not anticipating what happens next. With a wild snort, the bay stallion throws his head up in shock, eyes widening slightly at the sight of what seems to be a completely different horse beside him. After the initial surprise wears off, Warrick’s eyes trace the lines and contours of a now two-toned Djinni. He cannot help but reach out and carefully brush his muzzle softly her shoulder, almost certain that she would fall away in a mist or fog if he made contact. When he was greeted with the warmth of her skin he laughs quietly, the heat of his breath against her as he spoke. “You are certainly much more than that,” he admits almost breathlessly, his dark eyes still taking in the now-vibrant colors of her coat.
Shifting his weight, Warrick’s touch against her skin leaves, but his warm breath still lingers in the cold, wintry air. He is considering her question as his brow furrows above dark, clouded eyes. He swallows hard, wondering if she knows that her question was one that he couldn’t answer. Not because he didn’t want to, but because he simply didn’t know.
“I’m no one.”
Here his eyes flick to hers, dark blue meeting brilliant green, in almost astonishment – as if he hadn’t meant to let the words tumble from his mouth. It was true – he was no one worth knowing, no one worth saving, and no one worth staying behind for. His muscles grow taut beneath his auburn skin, though it was not from the cold.
“But you,” he says quickly (but genuinely, and almost in wonder), “are most definitely someone.”
With a sigh he straightens, a chilled breeze filtering between the tall trees and rustling them softly. His eyes are still on Djinni, unable to decide if he should look in her eyes, at her new appearance, or at the enchanting gold bangles that glimmer on her ankles and ears.
w a r r i c k