I maintain that this story is canon. You'll see.
Guide. I ponder this new word; I let it roll around my brain, and I let the taste of this marvelous word touch my tongue. I mouth the syllable silently, so as not to disturb my sentinel, who sleeps beside me, scrunched uncomfortably in the too-small airplane seat.
Guide. It's a word that cements my place in this unique partnership. It means that I'm not just a tagalong, not just a helpmate. It means that I'm necessary--a part of the package, if you will. It's a comforting thought, even though I've been on my own for many years.
"Words are power," someone told me that once. I didn't believe it at the time, but now I see it's true. Now that I have a word to describe myself, I have the power to see my role in a new light. This knowledge confirms the theory that's been bouncing around the back of my brain for some time. Now that I have the language to describe it, the concept becomes clear as day.
The role of the guide is to control the sentinel.
This one simple thought explains everything. It explains why we've been fighting lately, the sensory spikes, the erratic behavior, the stubbornness and territoriality.
It's my fault, for neglecting my duty as guide. Though of course I can't blame myself entirely. Until last night, I didn't have all the pieces of the puzzle.
But as every great mind knows, with knowledge comes power, and with power comes action. Now even the possibility of a rival has been snuffed out, and nobody will ever threaten our partnership ever again. Who knows what would have happened if I hadn't arrived when I did. When the guide takes what is his, the sentinel must obey. And this sentinel is all mine.
But then I am knocked out of my reverie when the little airplane touches ground. It lands with two bumps--one for the back wheels and one for the front. The landing makes me a little queasy, but I'm glad the flight is over. I hate flying.
Beside me, my sentinel stirs but does not awaken entirely. Sensitive eyes open briefly, but then scrunch shut at the bright sunlight pouring in the window. At least sleep has cleared them of this morning's redness.
I gently touch one of the hunched shoulders.
"Alex, wake up. We're in Sierra Verde."
Feedback (positive or negative) would be appreciated.
--Techgrrl