Disclaimer: I don't own Centaurworld!
Title: Sand in the Hourglass
Summary: Horse spends the afternoon with her wife, Wammawink, and chooses a name.
Warnings: Post-Canon, Chronic Pain.
...
It was the gentle sizzling of frying food woke Horse from a fitful slumber. Horse yawned, feeling a line of dried spittle crack along the edge of her muzzle. Groggy, she patted a hoof around, finding the bed empty except for her. Right. Duh. Someone had to be piloting the pan.
Therapy had helped Horse with a lot of her hang-ups over the years. It was okay to cry. She didn't have to pretend she was okay when she wasn't- it had done her a world of good to finally admit to her chronic pain to the herd, and they had adjusted in ways Horse didn't know was possible. Sometimes it was as simple as slowing the pace. Sometimes it was as complex as stopping for the day and running some scales to help distract her. She could be open and honest if she wanted to be, and the repulsion she garnered from some of her stories wasn't aimed at her being a bad warrior, but as the situations.
It hadn't quite managed to kick her anxious habit of being unable to lounge in bed, though. It seemed deeply engrained into her being- that even now, in a quiet little shack with her wife making breakfast, that Horse couldn't relax back into her slumber. A primal part of her said, no, get up, you need to keep watch, what if the minotaurs come, what if they need you. And that was yet another thing therapy had taught her; if she needed to indulge to feel safe, that was perfectly okay. If re-checking the horizon helped her rest, then she could do so. So, she crawled out of bed with a wince, back aching something fierce. Horse shucked on her favorite coat- made of Wammawink fur, which was both light on her bones and incredibly warm- and blearily trotted out into the kitchen area.
Wammawink hummed along to a song cheerfully as she flipped something in the pan. Two plates sat on the counter beside her, gigglecakes steaming and covered in honey. Cooking was a newer hobby the centaur had picked up- though nothing was as filling as food made of magic, she'd leapt at the chance to garnish her plates with extras. Horse privately found it adorable.
"Morning," she said, nestling her head across her side and under her arm. Wammawink let out an excited "oh!" and gave her a side hug. "Up a bit early, aren't we?"
Wammawink booped her nose. "Nuh-uh! You slept in."
"Oh." Horse squinted outside. The sun was a lot higher than it normally would be. "So I did."
"You got home pretty late, so I let you be. I'm making some oat hash- I know it's your favorite!"
"Aww. You didn't have to do all that."
"Not a problem, babygirl! I like oat hash too," she added in a conspiratorial whisper. "How was the Whaletaur Shaman?"
"Good, good. Her apprentice thought it'd be a great idea to try and eat clinical depression, so that was happening, but good." Horse perched herself on her cushy chair at the table with a sigh. "It was kinda triggering for everyone, so she wanted me to step in."
Wammawink tutted, setting their plates down. She scritched Horse behind the ear- a common itchy spot for her. "It didn't trigger you, did it?"
"Nah, I was fine. I- kinda got it?" Horse shrugged. "I mean, she was trying to help someone she loves. I'd've done the same if I didn't see what would happen firsthoof." She gave the centaur a gentle nudge. "I sang a certain someone's super special song. It helped a lot."
Wammawink just barely hid a smile as she went across the table. "Yes, well, I think everyone needs a reminder that it's okay to need an extra hand sometimes. I sure did at that age."
Horse felt a smile tug at her, unbidden. "I love you."
"I love you too," she said, and it felt like a promise. "What level are you today? Riding all the way back here must've taken a lot out of you."
"I missed our bed." Horse sighed. She'd gotten better at admitting to her own recklessness, but it still stung sometimes. Gauging the pain to ten had made it a lot simpler, but still. She'd pushed herself, and it was coming back to bite her. "...Seven."
Wammawink accepted that with a gentle nod. "You wanna go to the flower field today?"
"Yeah," she admitted. The flowers always made her feel better. "Can we go slow?"
"Slow as beetaur honey, babygirl!" Wammawink waggled a fork at her plate. "Now, eat up. You did a lot of exorcising yesterday."
By the time they finished, Horse was feeling a bit more reenergized. They strolled through the pastures and fields, Horse holding Wammawink's basket in her teeth, and made idle small talk. Eventually, it swung back around to the Whaletaur Shaman and her late-night return.
"Yeah, she was making jokes about calling it The Horse Process," Horse said, nudging Wammawink's side with a roll of her eyes. "And I was like, whoa, hey now, my beautiful, amazing wife made that song! You should name it after her!"
"Well," said Wammawink, trying to be positive. "It was nice of her to offer!"
"I guess. I mean, why would I want to name therapy 'Horse', anyway?"
A soft, pink hand touched her shoulder. Wammawink's smile was a bit brittle, and sad. "Have you thought about what we talked about?"
Horse chewed on that as they entered a field of various flowers. The smell, as always, was overwhelming. But in a good way. Horse could spend hours lounging in the sun here, the gentle breezes of floating leaftaurs her only company, and be as content as a foal. She found a good spot, tapped her hooves around as a form of kneading, and laid down. "Yeah, I think so. I... think that's why I wanted to get home so bad."
"And?" she prompted. Wammawink sat her back haunches down, leaving her front hooves stretched to keep herself upright. It didn't look very comfortable. Centaurs are weird, Horse thought, not for the first time. But it wasn't like horses normally slept in beds or laid down for long periods of time, so she supposed that made them even.
"What if I don't like it?" she asked.
"Then you can change it!" Wammawink chirped. "A name is what makes you feel good."
Horse's ears fell flat with worry. "What if... what if Rider doesn't like it?"
Wammawink paused. She set a soft hand on her nose. "I've said this before," she started carefully. "I don't understand the dynamic you and Rider have. I've never had a Rider of my own. But that doesn't mean it's not valid, or that I don't respect it."
She nodded. Horse had realized pretty quickly that the bond between a rider and a horse wasn't really something that translated well in a world without either.
"But," she added, "I also know that Rider would want you to be happy. And if that means she calls you somethin' else, I think she'll understand."
"Right," Horse said, then repeated it, a bit more confident. "Right. You're right."
"Did you have any ideas?"
Horse stared at the flowers around them a long moment. Her hoof wound around a daffodil, tilting the yellow bulb to her nose. "I've... always liked bluebells," she stated finally, with a little quaver. "Can we... try that? Just between us."
Wammawink wrapped her arms around her neck and squeezed. The gentle warmth of tears registered in her fur. "Oh, babygirl, I'm so proud of you," she muttered into her coat. "My beautiful Bluebell."
And, like a flower, she felt herself begin to bloom.
Author's Note: This is the perfect mix of Oddly Specific Headcanons, vague after-canons, and silly sappiness. I like flower names, what can I say lol.
-Mandaree1