A story had been a feat – all stilted words and pulsing nerves – and yet he felt no more accomplished for having told one in front of an audience. Indeed, “the pink one,” was a thought that had begun to reverberate anew through his head in time with his anxious heart. Impulse was the sole reason that anything occurred in his life. Loyalty had made him oppose the urge to run when the dragon threatened his turtle, impulse had intervened when a red buck had begun to twist the story into nonsense. Loyalty, impulse were the only times he had courage. And he was now beginning to realize how this cowardice, these nerves that pulsed and skittered like insects through his veins, made him wither and wilt. He needed to overcome it and the mare, though she had been flippant and wrong, was the only guidance he had. He’d have to find her again.By the third day, he was wondering if it would have been easier to find another. Not the orange one. He thought she might be able to set him on fire if they met ever again. The pink and orange mares were the only Legendaries he knew and while the pink mare was only slightly less terrifying than the other… He sighed and forged onward.
The fifth day he knew she was toying with him. The shadow of an owlcat would dance on his periphery. Dreadful, mocking laughter rung out and made his knees wobble. And yet he stumbled forward. He couldn’t let her drive him off. He couldn’t.
“I don’t remember telling you to return to me,” her voice shot, hot and fierce, at him as night fell. Of course, she hadn’t told him to return and they both knew that.
“I-I,” he gulped and screwed his eyes shut. “I told a story b-but I—“
A scoff as the shadows melted off her, “Yes, I can tell you are still as cowardly as ever.” At least he had the decency to look ashamed. A sigh. “Let me think.”
Courage was what he was after. She wasn’t about to offer trite advice about believing in himself. Nor was she foolish enough to believe that brute force would cow him into building self-confidence. (To be honest, she wasn’t about to let anyone think they could beat her. A hunter’s pride mingled with a survivalist’s arrogance would never allow for it.) And so she thought and considered.
A cruel smile twisted her mouth and her eyes turned fiendish as she narrowed her gaze on him. Oh, she would give him a feat then.
“You shall bring me an egg. Not a mere songbird, nor a snake. No caiman or turtle. The egg of a ferocious beast,” she twittered in her glee at the request. And then with a vicious snap of her teeth, “well, get to it!”
Bitter Heartbeat felt adrenaline rush into his bloodstream and he took the hint. He ran, ran for his life.
