Author's note: For this one, it may help to read "Secret Sorrows" first ( s/13809624/4/In-the-Way-They-Should-Go).

Thanks to: Studio Chizu's film Belle and its song "Lend Me Your Voice" for the lyric that titled this piece.


Peresh had not believed his eyes when he saw her. The mare in the courtyard was not his miracle. She could not be. She had a new master years ago. He served a new one now, the husband of his old master's daughter, and had moved very far away. He would never forget his miracle horse, and would not believe that this mare was she.

He did when she was passed into his care.

She was a sorry sight, muddy and ungroomed… but only on the surface. His practiced eyes saw she was healthy: she ate well, her legs were strong, and her eyes –!

She remembered him too.

He wondered if she still talked in her sleep.

He would not sing to find out. Not with Harüm tending the stallion in the next stall. The stallion that bore the same look of intelligence as the miracle mare. Peresh wondered if he talked in his sleep too.

Peresh returned his attention to the mare. He would come back tonight. He would sing to her then. Singing was less lonely.

For now, she would have the best oats and a grooming befitting a steed of the gods.

Harüm talked to the stallion as he worked. The stallion did not answer.

Peresh did not talk. Enough to call her Zel – "special". Easy enough to say, simple in meaning. But he would not say even that. Not now. He would only make such hums as were ordinary among grooms.

Zel – that's what he called her – did not talk either. She would turn her head at times to look at him. He knew she could see him without doing it. But she did not only see him. She looked. Maybe she wondered if he still sang. He would only stroke her nose or touch her shoulder for now. He would come back tonight.

She was waiting for him when he did. He could see her eyes shining in the moonlight that filtered in through the stable windows. If she still talked in her sleep, he would not hear it tonight. No stories of how she would leap over dancing waters or gallop through the wildflowers or pick berries with Mama.

He smiled sadly at the memory. Does she still miss you, Mama? Or has the hurt lessened over time, like it has with him and Imma?

He approached the stall softly. Was the stallion awake too? Would he hear them in his sleep? Would he speak to Peresh too? Peresh frowned. Would Zel? She had only ever spoken in her sleep.

Zel nickered at him and snuffled at the stall's door latch. He did as she bade him do. Inside, he hesitated a moment… then encircled his arms about her neck. She pressed her jaw into his back as she had years before.

He didn't speak. He couldn't.

She didn't either.

So he sang. He couldn't help it. The song bubbled up warm and familiar in his throat. No words, only a tune.

And then – Zel sang.

Peresh couldn't help the gasp of surprise. It was imperfect and horsey, but she sang with him. He couldn't help the tightening of his embrace, the tears that sprang to his eyes, the smile on his lips.

Singing was less lonely.

He pulled away and looked into her eyes. She remembered him, his song, the way he would sing for her mama while she would talk to his imma. Mama was hers; Imma was his. But when she talked and he sang, it didn't matter.

She talked now. She told him how his song had comforted her then, how special it was still. She told him that she was glad to see him, that she never would again because she was going home. She told him she would never forget him, her miracle.

He wanted to tell her how much it meant then to hear her voice, to hear her talk to Mama, to let her words talk to Imma too. He wanted to say he wished her a good journey, how happy he was to see her before she went away again, how he would never, never forget her either.

But he didn't speak. So he rested his head against her nose and sang again.

This time, she didn't sing. She spoke. "Thank you, Peresh."

Either she remembered his name, or she heard Harüm say it earlier. It didn't matter.

Peresh worked his jaw and rolled his tongue behind his teeth. "Zel… name?" he pushed out. It was imperfect and garbled, but it was speech. Hopefully enough for her to understand.

"Hwin," she breathed.

Was that her name? Zel was much easier, but he knew her name now, so it didn't matter. He tried it a few times till he could form it. "H-hwin… thank you."

She nuzzled his cheek. He hugged her muzzle with one arm and reached up to finger-comb her now-silky-smooth forelock.

They sang. Singing was less lonely. And neither of them would forget the song as long as they lived.


Prompt: At some point in the journey in Horse and His Boy, an outsider (of any station) sees at least one of the four travellers. What are their thoughts or reactions?

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