Let There Be Light: Sc.12


                                            >You wake to a feather tickling your face.

                                            >You must have rolled over in your sleep again, and are facing Noire’s back.

                                            >No, if your face was anywhere near her neck you’d be able to smell her smoky mane.

                                            >And that feather on the side of your face is applying even pressure, moving along your cheek in a regular pattern.

                                            >Lifts at the end of a stroke.

                                            >Makes contact again back where it started.

                                            >You groan and roll on your back.

                                            >The motion stops, and doesn’t resume.

                                            >Open your eyes; what’s Noire doing?

                                            >You do so, and your eyes take a few moments to adjust.

                                            >Above you is a midnight blue sky with its thousands of stars.

                                            >Noire’s off to the side, sitting upright on the bed, in that curious catlike manner she usually sits on the ground.

                                            >A wing halfway extended towards you, frozen in mid-air.

                                            >There’s a slight glint to her pupils, luminescent the same way the night sky is; a dull and dark but noticeable blue tint.

                                            >Have you noticed her eyeshine before? So much darker than a cat’s, or indeed any other horse’s, maybe this is the first time you’re staring her in the eyes in sufficient darkness.

                                            >Oh, right, you’re staring.

                                            >You flash a weak smile.

                                            >Then reach a hand up to her face, cupping her cheek in an approximation of how her wing must have been stroking yours.

                                            >At your touch she freezes.

                                            >Her wing now stiff where it’s still half-outstretched.

                                            >You can feel her jaw clenched under your light touch.

                                            >You can feel her…

                                            >…tears.

                                            “Hey. Are you okay?”

                                            >She doesn’t answer at first.

                                            >And when she does, it’s not verbal.

                                            >She squeezes her eyes shut, more tears tricking between your fingers

                                            >Then she tilts her head and presses her face into your hand.

                                            >You hold your arm stiff, letting her apply that pressure, rub her cheeks dry on your palm.

                                            >But her next movement is a nod, slight yet sure.

                                            “Then why are you crying?”

                                            >You can hear her breath catch, as if she wasn’t aware she was.

                                            >”I finally had a dream.”

                                            “A bad one?”

                                            >She shakes her head, the motion pushing your hand away. “It was wonderful.”

                                            “Doesn’t seem that way, with how you look.”

                                            >She’s silent, but finally relaxes, lowering her wings to the bed and her head back to your still half-outstretched hand. “You did not tell me even good dreams can hurt, when you wake up and realize it is not real.”

                                            >Ah.

                                            >Yeah, that would do it.

                                            >You sit upright in bed, both arms outstretched to beckon her in for a hug.

                                            >She takes two steps of out her seated position before collapsing in your embrace.

                                            >You hold her head over your shoulder, stroking one hand down her neck while the other plays with one of her wings.

                                            >She’s definitely not crying for real; you don’t feel her sobbing, and there’s not so much tension in her neck or chest.

                                            “Why don’t you tell me a little about it?”

                                            >”It was about you.”

                                            “Well now I’m glad you told me it was good, so I didn’t have just the tears to go off.”

                                            >”You were surrounded by the young of all the creatures we made. They looked up to you. You told them stories and lessons and told them about fantastic things from your world. A great teacher of wisdom to a whole young world.”

                                            “I think I have a bit of learning to do myself before I can be that.”

                                            >She chuckles, but weakly. “You are fine just as you are.”

                                            “And where were you, while I was monopolizing the attention of your creations?”

                                            >”Our creations.”

                                            “Our creations.”

                                            >”I was…”

                                            >She paused, then nuzzled the side of your head. “I was there.”

                                            “Just ‘there’?”

                                            >”That will suffice.”

                                            “If you say so.”

                                            >She finally relaxes all the way, under your gentle ministrations.

                                            >You slowly pull the two of you back down into a halfway decent sleeping position, your body conforming to her back.

                                            >You’ve a face-full of feathers now, and a nose-full of burning wood scent, in about the same position you first suspected you were in when she’d woken you up.

                                            >”Is every dream going to be like that?”

                                            “What, about me talking to youngsters?”

                                            >”Jarring when I wake from them.”

                                            “No, not all of them. It’ll happen again, though. I don’t know why or how, but sometimes when you wake up, it blends into reality, and you’re not really sure if it was real or just a dream.”

                                            >”That sounds… troublesome.”

                                            “It won’t be sad every time.”

                                            >”It was a very nice dream, Anon.”

                                            >You snake an arm under her neck to wrap over her chest, while your other hand is free to keep stroking her neck.

                                            “I’m glad. You deserved a good one, for your first time.”

                                            >“This is…”

                                            >She falls silent.

                                            >You continue comforting her, waiting for her to speak again.

                                            >She heaves a heavy sigh, then, “This is almost as nice.”

                                            “I’m glad I can get close.”

                                            >”I like it when we are close.”

                                            “I meant to how you felt in the dream, but…”

                                            >You’d given up pretense of avoiding outright displays of affection.

                                            >Since she made her horn somehow intangible, even if still visible, the polite fiction of back-to-back as some sort of platonic position had been given up for however you two felt like sleeping that night.

                                            >You’d woken up one day to her horn through your eye, and looking “inside” almost knocked you out again.

                                            >You’ve caught little glimpses, here and there, of her greater self time to time.

                                            >Several times now since that night with the horn stuff.

                                            >But seeing it with one eye and her normal self with the other simultaneously was a little too much.

                                            >Usually, though, you ended up more frequently as you are now, or the other way around.

                                            >Or limbs all tangled and such.

                                            >”But what?”

                                            >Oh, what were you saying before?

                                            “But this is nice too.”

                                            >Too nice.

                                            >She was just ‘there’, she said.

                                            >You’re going to have to face it, some day.

                                            >Just how horse-like is she?

                                            >She said they sleep together, all against each other, except for whichever one is awake as a lookout.

                                            >She’s certainly physically affectionate enough with you, but is that just a horse thing too?

                                            >People used to pat and rub horses all the time back home in ways that would be decidedly more intimate with another person

                                            >Casual massages aren’t for the bros.

                                            >Did concepts like that get shared wit her, in some explanation of yours some time?

                                            >Did she ‘program’ herself – in this body – for that degree of affection being normal?

                                            >Because now you realize if that was the case, well…

                                            >You’d be the one feeling like you’d woken up from a wonderful dream to a disappointing reality, yourself.

                                            >Denial, be thy shield.

                                            >Remember what she is.

                                            >Can she even love?

                                            >You know she understands it; her creations experience it. You saw it, between those two pegasi, when you met them in the Garden.

                                            >But her knowledge and her own experience are two very different things, as she is constantly pondering.

                                            >Is love something she’s capable of, in this state?

                                            >If so, would she love something like you?

                                            >You probably don’t have to worry about the being an alien thing.

                                            >She could have made herself like you, if she wished, after all.

                                            >But you’re so…

                                            >Limited.

                                            >You’re incongruous with this world, and that includes her as part of it, since she has modeled herself after what you’ve been creating.

                                            >You’re more like her ward than an equal, even after the household responsibilities you’ve been taking up.

                                            >But she’s always been warm and respectful.

                                            >She can shift her focus to anything anywhere in the world at any time, but when you speak she always listens attentively.

                                            >But that’s just you being inherently interesting to her.

                                            >If she doesn’t feel any more than that, would she put distance between you, to disabuse you of the notions?

                                            >If you want to keep this, you can’t tell her why.

                                            >You can stop lying to yourself.

                                            >You’ll have to start lying to her.

                                            >At least by omission.

                                            >But she’s the one who asked for this arrangement.

                                            >And even if she’s just being horsey, it must be a comfort to her, because she refuses to sleep without you there, whether you’re awake or sleeping as well.

                                            >Like naps on the couch, alternating which one is awake.

                                            >So even if she’s just getting some form of enjoyment peculiar to her, that makes it a fair trade, doesn’t it?

                                            “Hey.”

                                            >Would you really be alright assuming that?

                                            >Never knowing for sure?

                                            “Noire?”

                                            >No reason for her to push you away, even if she doesn’t feel the same.

                                            >She’s been getting something else out of it this whole time.

                                            “Do you think…”

                                            >Yeah, bring it up like a hypothetical.

                                            >If it goes south, you can walk It back easily enough.

                                            “Do you think we should be this close?”

                                            >As soon as the question leaves your lips, you realize you let your doubt speak for you.

                                            >That comes across just about the opposite of how you intended.

                                            >You tense for her reply.

                                            >What concepts came across riding THAT?

                                            >But she doesn’t respond.

                                            >She doesn’t even give any indication she heard you.

                                            >You can feel her chest expand between your arms.

                                            >Slow, shallow, smooth.

                                            >A perfectly even rhythm, unbroken by any attempts to speak, or even any shift indicating some contemplation.

                                            >She’s asleep.

                                            >She probably fell asleep shortly after you answered her.

                                            >Your doubt balls up in your throat.

                                            >That traitorous doubt, trying to choke you.

                                            >No that’s not doubt.

                                            >It’s…

                                            >You push your head into the back of her neck.

                                            >A few tears of your own escape.

                                            >Even this close to another, are you alone?

                                            >Maybe the polite fiction of distance you had before was for your own mental well-being.

                                            >Your original self may have been a coward, but at least he was not weak; you can hold it in, you won’t wake her with any sobbing.

                                            >At least the tears don’t make any noise on their own.

                                            >Maybe her winter coat is thick enough she wouldn’t even feel them if she were awake.

                                            >You take a long breath, shuddering minimal.

                                            >Get ahold of yourself.

                                            >You’re despairing right now.

                                            >For little reason.

                                            >She couldn’t hear you bungle the question if she was asleep.

                                            >Nothing’s changed.

                                            >You still have her here.

                                            >And you’re still here for her.

                                            >It was a close call.

                                            >But whatever she’s getting out of it, the trade’s still good.

                                            >She moves a little in her sleep.

                                            >Stretches her legs a little, pressing her back against you.

                                            >You wrap your arms tighter around her.

                                            >Just a little. Not enough to wake her, you don’t think-

                                            >”Anon.”

                                            >You swallow that treacherous lump.

                                            “Y-yeah?”

                                            >Good enough.

                                            >She pushes her back into you a little more.

                                            >“I think dreams reveal things.”

                                            “Mmm. Maybe?”

                                            >”Things I did not realize, or did not think about.”

                                            >You squeeze her a little harder this time.

                                            >You intended it to be comforting, but it’s really comforting you more than her.

                                            >”Maybe things I worry about.”

                                            “’s a lot of that.”

                                            >She twists her head around to look at you with a clear, slightly lucent eye. “Hmm?”

                                            “Nothin’.”

                                            >She drops her head back to the pillow, and adjusts her free wing with a roll at its shoulder. “Little things, on the edges. You pass through them between waking and slumber.”

                                            “Did I wake you from one?”

                                            >Her wings do a shrug, best they can with one of them pinned between you.

                                            “Lucky you to have another so soon.”

                                            >”I do not know about lucky. I do not want to wake up saddened again.”

                                            >She pushes off that pinned wing now, rolling over inside your arms, coming around to face you. She covers the two of you with her now-freed wing, and one of her legs tries to mirror your arms’ embrace, but the joints don’t really work the same.

                                            >Her face is back against yours.

                                            >Her cheeks are still a little damp.

                                            >Yours are probably dry; you didn’t crank the waterworks like she did.

                                            >A hint of her wood-smoke breath as she takes a breath to speak.

                                            >”I am glad you can get close too.”

                                            >She presses on your back with her wing.

                                            >You think you understand; her legs are more flexible than you’d expect from a horse but they can still be clumsy.

                                            >So you gather her up and pull her real tight against you now, chest to chest, pressed against each other from your necks to your waists.

                                            >Her wing’s around your back tight enough you can feel the actual limb through the feathers, slender and sinewy yet strong.

                                            >Both of you are clinging tighter than you need to accomplish even this level of contact, you realize.

                                            >But it feels so good to have her this close.

                                            >You want her even closer, impossibly so.

                                            >The entirety of your being focused on her.

                                            >Don’t overthink things; that has been your greatest enemy your entire time here.

                                            >Forget all the worries and doubts and insecurities.

                                            >Go with the flow. Live in the moment. Lose yourself in the contact.

                                            >Whatever happens in the future, whatever this turns out to be…

                                            >She’s right here, right now.

                                            >And despite all this…

                                            >You have a feeling she’s not going anywhere.