Tethered

Eleven || Seek

{Skin and Bones ~ Eli Young Band}

...yeah, if a fight is like a shot of whiskey, then forgiveness is a pill I'll be takin' in the morning...

----

     My voice echoes across the wide expanse of grass, reaching out in the hopes of hearing a whinny of response. Nothing comes. The harsh summer sun beats down against the bare skin of my back, heating me, and leaving a glisten of sweat on my brow. The field stretches and stretches past the edge of my vision, and I feel a tightening in my chest as I know the day will eventually come to an end. I can't -- no, I won't return to the house without Dusk. 

     I doubt Beau would disagree. 

     For three hours, we have scoured the earth that I'm learning to call home, with Beau to the east side of the field while I am tasked with the west. Part of me thinks it's so he doesn't have to talk to me, and the other part wants to thank him for covering for me with Uncle Deacon. I was so in a head-rush that I didn't fully comprehend the kindness he showed me. 

  "Anything?" He shouts over to grab my attention. 

     I turn, shaking my head. Even from our distance, I hear his heavy sigh. 

  "She can't have gone far," I try to settle him. 

  "If you had closed the gate--" he begins, berating me. 

  "I did."

  "I left the horses with you because I thought you could--" 

  "Hey," I stop him, marching my way across the field. "I have done nothing but look after those horses while you've been working on the stable. I've got up before the sun every single morning to look after them, keep them fed and watered and cared for, and I haven't ever asked for a single thanks," he looks a little shocked at my reaction. "So, if you haven't got anything nice to say, just shut up."

     In his typical way, he enjoys it when I bite back. Somehow my rigid edges soften his. It's frustrating, but at least I know his language sometimes. Straight-talking. No feelings. More action than words. I know it opposes me in every instinct I have, but right now I won't be able to get through this afternoon in one piece if I don't try to reason with him. 

  "Let's try the southern fence," he sighs, trying to mark our next search area in his mind. 

     His brow furrows as he stares out, his eyes narrowing to the farthest tip of the land, where the ranch borders reach the neighbouring stretch of a lazy river. It is overgrown and hardly used, but it's where Beau has been working on the stable every day. 

     I follow his lead down the bent-grass path, careful as the terrain grows rockier and underfoot the grass feels thick and hard to walk on, as though resisting my weight. It's about a five-minute walk down the line of trees and fence's edge, both of us in a jaw-clench silence, our eyes peeled for the sight of Dusk. 

  "I wanted to thank you for earlier," I say aloud into the thick, humid silence. 

  "What for?" he replies, the gravel in his voice prevalent, making his voice low and smoky. I sometimes forget he is so young, only a few years older than me, but his voice is like an old oak tree might sound in my mind.