•• ghost of me [Gwathren]

[Silver]

The ghosts stay with me . . .
ZAFIRAH.

She wished that the ghosts would go away.

The fog rolled in this morning like it always did. If you looked hard enough at the ground, you might be able to see the pink tips of the wild pansies or the white petals of the daisies. As it was, Zafirah couldn't see very far ahead of her own two hooves. She made sure that her senses were always on high alert when the mist was this thick. There were times when a horse could almost see clearly, with only a slight haze, but because of the time of year, the cloudiness of the fog pressed in tightly. The mare breathed in deeply, noting the frost with a sort of indifference. She was almost native to this land, these mysterious plains that seemed to roil and buck before your eyes. She knew it was because of the hazy weather, but sometimes it was fun to imagine.

One thing that she could do without imagining, however, was the ghosts. They pranced in front of her, part of the swirling, twirling mists; they were testimonies to the life she might have lived had she been luckier. The short, choppy mane that refused to look presentable reared up with a gust of cold wind, forcing the mare to close her eyes tightly. Still, the ghosts danced for her. Her mother and father, so far gone, whispered to her. She knew that she was mad, perhaps a little soft in the head, for how else could she conjure up these things that seemed so real? It's the mists, her inner voice assured. They do things to a horse's mind. If that was true, well then. She was perfectly normal; as normal as a mare who had been completely alone for three years could be. Zafirah reckoned that her sixth birthday might have come and gone, but she couldn't be sure. It wasn't even that important really. Time was nothing in this land of mist and unending regrets. "Things might happen again," she said. Her voice was cracked and harsh from being seldom used. "If the heir was found..." If the heir was found. Wasn't that the question that was on every horse's mind? What would happen? Would they be slaughtered, as her father was? Or would he take up the throne once more? What if he wasn't ready to take over? Would he be swayed by the whims of some powerful horses?

The thoughts bounced around her head until she could bear them no more. With a snort of frustration, she picked up her scraped and scratched legs, heading in the general direction of water. Worrying was no good for someone who was surrounded by ghosts.

[Lady Lemon Zinger]

Gwathren was out for a stroll. Since he was a loner, he would often come onto the misty plains, even if he never had yet claimed a mare. He had resigned himself to die alone, likely in some tragic way like with a wolf or other predator, but he wasn't really surprised. It was his luck in life to be speechless, but the way the wind howled over the land at night sometimes spot the eerie song of lonliness in his heart, when he would look up at the stars, forlorn and forgotten.

He came upon a collection of water and trotted over, attempting to make himself heard with his heavy steps. He could make little other noise, so he was usually trying to be loud in any other way. He realized he was not alone and paused before he drank, looking up for the other horse, wondering what he would find. Some just ignored him, others attacked. It all usually ended with him turning tail and fleeing.

[Silver]

The ghosts stay with me . . .
ZAFIRAH.

Only time will tell what is to become of this land. Zafirah's ears rested back, calmly annoyed by the sudden thoughts of the hunt. It wasn't her fate, it wasn't her mission. "What the royal blood brought was nothing but heartache. It gave me nothing but ghosts." It was as if she needed to reassure herself that not being involved was the best thing for her, for everyone. Damp from the roiling fog, the mare finally located the small watering hole that she liked. The water there was freshest. It reminded her of the streams that she watered on when she was a foal. The small memory was quickly punctuated with the shrill voices of her ghosts, who seemed to have no intention of giving her peace this day. The mists cleared some, burning off a layer in the slowly warming spring sun. She found that she could at least see what was a horse's length away from her. The ghosts somehow receded with the low-hanging clouds. The bay dun mare was not expecting company at all at her watering hole; other mares around her resting place was virtually unheard of. She suspected that they had started a rumor of some sort about the crazy old hag that lived near the ice water, but couldn't be sure. It was then by this lowering of guards that Zafirah was caught unawares by the mostly silent companion standing to her right.

At the moment that it - or rather he - was found in her line of sight, she snorted up a mouthful of water. Snorting and spluttering, the mare came up for a very startled breath of air. As oxygen rushed into her heaving lungs, she managed to size him up. He didn't seem altogether threatening, but then equines could be that way; the most threatening of all were the ones you least expected. Playing outwardly confident, Zafirah let her ears stay upright and alert, while breathing in deeply. Watching him avidly, she opened her mouth for the simplest of words: "Hello."

[Lady Lemon Zinger]

Gwathren dipped his head kindly to the mare, sorry he had startled her. He wished he could tell her he was no threat, but there was little he could do. He would have to merely show her. He took a step back and lowered his head, deferring to her to drink if she wanted to do so alone. He wished he could do more, and found himself staring at her. He liked how confidently she greeted him, even though she seemed a bit startled.

He took another step back, hoping she would just leave him be. He'd rather be ignored than altogether rejected. He'd rather at least be in someones company, even if he could never make friends.

[Silver]

The ghosts stay with me . . . ZAFIRAH.

Whatever she was expecting, it wasn't this. Without saying a word, the stallion dropped back, showing that he was not a threat, giving the advantage to Zafirah. Her ears perked up for real this time, curious as to why a stallion wouldn't show his dominion over a free mare such as she. There were no ghosts to whisper their thoughts on the subject, and not knowing what to think, the mare just stood there. Her eyes wandered over the length of his body and she noted that he was shorter than she was. That might explain the deference, but she wasn't quite sure. The black and white pattern of his body caught her attention, but when she felt his eyes on hers, she quickly looked away, feeling foolish. She was far too mature for silly foal games. As a ploy to compose herself, the dun mare returned her muzzle to the water, sucking up large mouthfuls of cooling liquid. She kept her ears trained on where he was, but sensed no overwhelming motion. Why didn't he speak? His silence troubled her mind more than his presence in the Misty Plains did. Finally she decided that she had been drinking for longer than was natural. With one last snort to create bubbles in the surface of the pool, she lifted her head to look at him once more. Water droplets dripped from her chin; she shook them off quickly, not knowing what to say. "Er..." She couldn't seem to find anything to say. Why was he staring at her like that? Did he have to stare at her like that? It was disconcerting, the level of his gaze.

Zafirah decided that she didn't want to be in the company of this strange and silent creature, but neither did she want to have him stalking her through her territory. Sighing helplessly, she forced words to form on her tongue. "And you are?" Dear Mother, that sounded terribly rude, but wasn't she in the position to be hostile? He's not being anything but quiet; how can you say something like that to someone who isn't doing anything? Yes, yes, that was a valid point. She flicked her tail back and forth to ease the restlessness in her bones. "Er...well. Would you care to explain why you've come to the home of the free mares, stallion?" That didn't sound too much better, but it was rather awkward to be prattling on like some chatterbox filly having a one-sided conversation. She wished desperately that he would say something, make any sound, that might take her from her position in the spotlight.

[Lady Lemon Zinger]

She drank her fill and he patiently waited, not moving more than to shift his weight once or twice. He wanted her to feel comfortable around him and he definitely didn't want a confrontation. He gave a little smile as she blew bubbles, finding it cute, but when she looked at him again he returned to his quiet and reserved look. He supposed it was rather pathetic the way he was letting this mare take charge. Maybe that's why his birth-heard had tried to kill him when he was chased away? None of the brutality was necessary, he was happy enough to flee.

She seemed nice enough, and wasn't giving him a cold shoulder, even if he sensed a bit of uneasy. He couldn't be too surprised, since his silence was usually surprising to most mares and stallions alike. Her first question made his lip twitch a bit, feeling the sting to the words, but when she went on, he felt like she at least cared to know the answer, not just challenge his presence. Gwathren wished he could answer her question with every fiber of his being.

His eyes wandered over her form again, this time studying her with greater care. Her strength clearly matched her confidence when she spoke, and he wished there was some way he could answer. As per his usual method, he opened his mouth, attempting to form words that he knew wouldn't come, just to show her he couldn't speak. Then he splashed the water a bit with his nose, trying to explain his sole intention. He watched her curiously with his brown eyes, wondering what her reaction would be.

[Silver]

The ghosts stay with me . . .
ZAFIRAH.

What was it about this stallion that made her feel so peculiar? It must be the eyes, she decided, trying not to fidget as his bottomless gaze fixed itself onto her body. It wasn't an unusual thing to look at another equine's body, but the way he looked at her made Zafirah feel like he was saying so much more than could be conveyed in mere words. She kept her chin up, unwilling to let him see any weakness, but her eyes watched him with a wary curiosity. When he opened his mouth, she straightened in anticipation of the voice that was to accompany such a strange horse. Unfortunately she was to be disappointed. No sound came from his mouth, no words rolled off of his tongue. She watched as he demonstrated his inability to make noise, her eyes widening with every second. Pity washed over her, pushing at her heart, pulling it this way and that. The mare kept her mouth shut, not wanting to betray her sadness for him. He was a stallion after all, and her father had always told her that stallions hated when mares wounded their pride. So with great effort, she shoved down the pity and swore to forget it.

He bent down and splashed at the water with his muzzle, clearly trying to answer her question. Water... "You're here for water," she said slowly, carefully controlling the tone of her voice. Another emotion swept over her, but it wasn't pity this time. It was a little bit of what she had forgotten -- it was compassion. She felt an overwhelming amount of compassion for this creature who had to go to extraordinary measures in order to communicate, while others simply let their lips flap. He was obviously no danger, and from his body language she could tell that he was used to fleeing from less hospitable company. The hardened mare let a smile play at her lips, just a twitch, the first one she'd seen in a while. Sighing at the strangeness of this meeting, Zafirah dipped her head in greeting. She didn't think he would harm her at all, and he was probably better company than the rest of the mares in the plains. She didn't have patience for immature, chatty persons, and he didn't seem to be either of those. Perhaps a little company would be nice after so many years of solitude. Giving into the urge, she truly smiled. "My name is Zafirah," she said. But how to ask him of his name? Well, she wouldn't try that just yet.

[Lady Lemon Zinger]

Gwathren was quiet as he watched her reaction at his attempts to communicate. He was a bit caught off-guard when she did understand him and didn't show him the typical pity or hostility he got from other horses. He perked up as a ghost of a smile touched her lips, and she also offered him her name. He longed to say it so badly, he wanted to feel such a beautiful name roll off his tongue. He wanted to buck and rear with his frustration, but he kept himself composed. He wished he could give her his name. The only ones who would know it would be his former herd, and they were unlikely to be any help to him. He felt his mouth get drier than it already was, but he didn't really want to stop trying to communicate with her to drink, worried she'd loose interest and leave. He smiled at her and tossed his head, trying to show pleasure at meeting her. He honestly couldn't care less what she called him, so long as she was willing to stick around for a bit. The company was immensely refreshing.

He didn't move closer, fearing she wouldn't be comfortable with him, but wished he could. He would let her call the shots though, since he was the one desperate for company. Gwathren’s long life of loneliness was dotted with short meetings, moments he’d hoped he could finally make a friend, only to have it dashed by totally rejection or even violence. His back was lined with scars from his time as a colt, the brutality of his herd unforgotten in the passing of time. It was like he would never find a friend, someone who would care for him. He was beginning to dare to hope, since he had her name and her attention, clearly, but he feared this would just be a one-time meeting, and he’d be back in the world of solitude he knew and despised. How often had he wondered close to the edge of a cliff or stopped grazing for a day? He sometimes half-hoped for a swift end, rather than this miserable existence.

[Silver]

The ghosts stay with me . . .
ZAFIRAH.

She watched carefully as he tossed his mane, seeing the smile upon his face. The expression caused a smile of her own to appear. Her heart felt a bit lighter than it had when she had started the day, and she was grateful for the company. Being alone most of her life, Zafirah was used to the claws of loneliness gripping her heart, filling her days with a monotony that threatened to break her mind. She supposed that it already did, considering that she saw and heard ghosts on a regular basis. The familiar and unwelcome buzzing filled her ears and she shook her head to clear them. They choose not to leave me alone even when I have the company of another living being. Her eyes wandered over his back, noting the large and ugly scars that were most likely caused by sharp hooves that had struck out in anger. She assumed that they were provoked by nothing more than the strangeness of this stallion. Compassion again wafted over her like a soothing fragrance, allowing her to acknowledge that she was still mostly sane. The dun mare looked down at the water once more, watching her own scarred reflection waver and bounce with the water as it was disturbed. She only then realized that the stallion hadn't actually drank any water himself, and was probably parched. Inwardly embarrassed but outwardly calm, she gestured to the water with her nose, then looking back at him. "Go ahead, I don't mind sharing the water. It's what you came here for, in any case."

She watched for his expression, but it wasn't gratitude she saw in those eyes at first. It was hesitance and perhaps a little fear. Was he afraid of her? No, I don't think so. He seems happy to have some company. Then what was the reason for any fear? What would a lonely horse fear from company... Oh. It hit her then, like a load of bricks. What she was loathe to do after meeting another friendly soul after her exile from society, her solitude. She assumed that he, as much as she herself, was afraid the other would suddenly up and leave, without so much as a word of goodbye. Well, she wasn't going to do that, not to someone such as him. That would be absolutely rude and, she realized with a sickening start, what he was used to. Determined not to give reason to the fears of the creature in front of her, she stepped closer to him and planted her feet firmly, the look in her eyes leaving no question about her resolve to stay where she was. She wouldn't let what had happened to her come upon another creature, especially one who already endured such trials.

[Lady Lemon Zinger]

Gwathren was a bit startled by her firm approach, but her kindness touched his heart. He felt alive for the first time, and finally accepted her offer to drink, fairly certain she wouldn't disappeared as he did. He took several long gulps, his mane dipping down into the water beside him and rippling out, meeting the ripples from his mouth that moved out even further.

He quenched his thirst and raised his head, looking at her with his brown eyes a bit questioning. He wondered for a moment if she'd follow him, but suddenly his face itched and he turned to scratch it against his shoulder, looking back over at her after tossing his hair to one side. He hated it getting in the way of his vision, needing to be on alert as much as he did. However, he felt relaxed around her. He just wanted to be this relaxed all the time. He wanted to know someone cared.

He watched as the pretty mare stood her ground and he wanted to communicate so badly. He splashed the water again and then dipped his head in a silent sign of gratitude to thank her. Then he gave her a questioning look and jerked his head a little, wondering if she’d walk with him a bit. He didn’t know if she’d stay with him, but part of him wanted to follow her like a foal if she tried to leave. He was desperate for some company. Something to distract him from his lonely life of waiting to die.

[Silver]

The ghosts stay with me . . .
ZAFIRAH.

The stallion did accept her offer for water in the end, which allowed Zafirah to relax. It wasn’t that she was uncomfortable around him; it was just that she had to concentrate so much harder in order to understand him. Maybe she was good at it because she spent so much time to herself that talking became an unneccessary action. The bay dun mare stood there relaxing her mind, confined to speaking only when he could really answer her with his body, and afraid that he might get too attached to her too soon. She wasn’t ready to have a permanent friend like that so soon, but perhaps in time… She tossed her mane in a horse type of shrug, even though he couldn’t have any idea of what she was doing. No, she pushed any thought of the future out of her mind and firmly concentrated on the situation at hand, which was that she had encountered a mute horse – a stallion, at that – and was contemplating sticking around with him so that he would have company. Alright, it was also for herself. She couldn’t say that she disliked having company after so long either. She was yanked out of her reverie by a sudden splashing from the stallion. Her eyes took a moment to readjust to the sight in front of her, but she found herself watching him dip his head in…was it thanks? Let’s go with that, she said to herself, watching closely for his next attempt at communication.

It came almost as soon as he finished dipping his head. His eyes seemed to widen in a puzzled look – Or is that a question? – before he tossed his head jerkily in a direction behind him. Confused and doubting now her abilities to interpret his attempts at conversation, she directed her attention to the spot to which he had gestured. There was nothing there but rolling grasses that waved in the breeze. "Er..." Seeing nothing there, she looked back at him with a blank expression, trying to sort out his intentions. Was he trying to lure her away so he could have his way with her? Don’t be silly, she scolded. No, his body language didn’t say anything of the sort. Alright, let’s try one at a time. There really wasn’t anything to be puzzled about, so she determined that he was in fact asking a question. The second part was a little bit trickier, and she didn’t think she had it quite right, but she nodded anyway. Better to present a confident attitude than display weakness. Zafirah walked around to stand beside the stallion, hoping that he would fill in the blanks for her, and hoping that nothing showed in her eyes. The ghosts chuckled at her discomfort, but she blatantly ignored them.

[Lady Lemon Zinger]

Gwathren was fairly sure his show of gratitude was understood. He wondered what the quiet mare was thinking, but it was no use trying to ask something that deep. He might as well try to give her his life story as ask her anything like that. Not to mention, it would be rude and probably an undesired question. It would be as if she were to ask him about all the times he'd been picked on as a colt and now as a stallion. The life of solitude that he led wasn't easy and he wouldn't want to tell her how many times he'd been chased away. He was embarrassed at his own cowardice and his weakness. He was fairly sure she wouldn't tell him anything. He didn't blame her, and he respected that. She didn't have to be the most talkative mare in the world. In fact, it would probably be difficult for him to ever find someone willing to chat the days away when he could barely respond.

Now Gwathren was fairly sure he had her confused. He grew frustrated and had to take a deep breath to avoid a temper tantrum. Oh that would just be lovely. Just want sort of friendly behavior might actually earn him a companion. He looked as she stood next to him and then ever so lightly touched her shoulder with his nose, then turned to walk away, but heading further into the misty plains. If she would follow she wouldn't have to leave her home and if she didn't he could meander his way through the pleasant grassy hills towards his miserable existence back in the badlands. Either way, he would now know if she intended to give him the pleasure of her company any longer. He hung his head low as he walked with anxiety and sorrow weighing on him like a mountain.



He paused a few steps out and then dared to look back, wondering if she had moved.