Who You Pray For

She hadn’t expected any thing to appear just because she said a few choice words written down centuries before.

Yet, he was practically a scroll come to life, a perfect blend of all the sketches and descriptions that she had ever seen. Four hooves and a horse’s tail. An expansive human chest and short, curly hair. He did, indeed, give the impression of power, just by standing there. If the scrolls were this accurate, then the centaur might be just what they needed.

In other ways he was the embodiment of things that the ancient writers would not have dared to say. His brown eyes were like the crashing of a mountain side: rough and inevitable. His teeth were the uneven sharpness of stalagmites revealed by his grinning maw.

“Prayer ain’t enough, Hunny,” he drawled as he traced the line of her jaw, “but beauty… mhn, beauty just might be.”

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