The warmth was oh so welcoming, but it felt like slithers of my dream had captured me and pulled tight around my neck. I had dreamt momentarily clouds of this; not lying here with Killdare, no, that had been a slightly foolish ideal. Perhaps... perhaps indeed. But nestled close to the throes of his heart, and staying in the same position for what felt like hours, was just blossoming thoughts in my mind, bringing them to the surface.
I dream when awake, clouds of images, both from my past and what I guess is myriads of the future. Threads wrapped tightly together of my own, blissful thoughts. It is the sprout, the life that thumped deep within the earth of the Chamber, the promise of a beginning that is fresh, new. And on my midnight wanders, I see him often. His bay frame merged within the darkness, his viridian eyes guardian over the chamber. Almost like some girl, rapt, I watched him. Enthralled by the way he stalked the night, much like me. Loyal to none other than the chamber. Admirable and handsome. How could no one bear thoughts of Killdare?
I am sure this is a dream, throes of surreality blurring my insomniac eyes. My heart thuds, completely thawed, by his warmth, by his breath pooling my face alone. My skin aches, feverish and blistered with promise of sweat in the summer heat. Marred gold, merged with grass green and ash, terribly marked by the chamber dirt, so lovingly, so tenderly. Right now noting matters, I lay in his embrace and the deep sorrow in mightiest fades, the ache, the missing pieces are slowly knitting together, and that's when my eyes snap open.
An epiphany. I have had many in Beqanna. About life, about myself and now, now I understand what my mother had meant when she said that without her father, she was missing a piece. At birth you are empty, pieces fall into place with those you meet, places you see. Those that matter make iron welded pieces that stay prominent in your chest. My heart had been iced, frozen in place for years. Those pieces had been there, forgotten, ignored. Now, warmed thoroughly by his pulsing frame, his heartbeats merged with my own. I thought, that maybe what my mother had was right here. The steady thump of my heart and the quiver of butterflies in my stomach. Foolish yearling stuff, but stuff that plagued me nonetheless.
His one word meets my ears and they fold back into my crown, pressed further down as I slide my head deep into his chest, closer to the thump, thump of his heart. The confusion between dream and reality was blurring, my mother's voice clouding my judgement, I needed to hear his voice as much as feel his bay pelt against my gold.
'Killdare.' I say his name and it feels perfect upon my tongue. I pull my head, snake it out from the hidden hole of his chest and I lay my nose, pressed close against his withers, lost within the knots of his ebony mane. I lip tresses, pull with teeth, weave myself even closer to him. If this were a dream, I would have woken by now and he would be gone. But my gemstone eyes still filled with doubt, I looked over his body, making certain every inch of him was real, raw Killdare.
'This feels....' I say, chewing on my words, salmon tongue licking dry, course lips. 'this feels...' I stammer on, never one to fumble over words, it frustrates me and I instead nestle my nose beneath his mane, pressing my forehead into his neck, breathing in time with him. 'Nice.' the word slips from my lips, a quivering feather, unsure, uncertain where it may land. He could capture it, or blow it away. discard it or keep it close to his chest. 'This feels nice.'.
