Falls

The seer listened intently, four hooves planted on the ground and both ears pointed at the black chestnut as she leaned a little closer. El Aran had not had a theological discussion in years, probably not since she’d come to these Islands and spoken about her Gods to Sarabi and Daenerys —a name that made her heart seize for a moment as she recalled the vibrant black and white mare who’d acted as a kind of go-between for the brash young stallion who’d stolen a mare convinced he wanted to kill her. Life with Encantador and Dany had been a simpler time, one El Aran remembered with as much fondness as she did bitterness: though pleasant, it had been all too short, and of the three horses in that loose Harbor herd, only she survived.

It was a depressing theme in El Aran’s life, one she had hoped to put a stop to once she’d taken up position of lead mare in the Desert beside her son even though she had been in no way responsible for any of the disappearances or deaths of the horses she’d met on these Islands. No more death, she had prayed. Don’t let Orhan die, don’t let Vesti die; don’t take these horses away from this world. They are all I have left.

"That is much to think about," she said after Taytim’s words had been swallowed by the ever-present roar of the Falls. "I have never looked at the Gods in that way." It was a bizarre view of the world, to El Aran, but she had never been close with either of her parents. There hadn’t been time for that sort of luxury: El Aran had been weaned early and with great indifference as a necessity of the harsh reality she’d been born into. Her idea of that sort of authority did not seem to match up with what Taytim had described, but she tossed her mane and set it aside for further consideration at a time when it would not be rude to turn her attention inward for a great stretch of time.

Taytim seemed as contemplative about the subject as El Aran, and the seer gave the young mare a moment to herself while she, in turn, swung her head around to watch the water pour over the rock face. She felt lightly nostalgic. It was a pleasant change from the heavy sense of futility that had been weighing her down for so many days. "Thank you," El Aran said as she looked at Taytim once more. Despite not feeling any closer to an answer on the morality of her choice to accept Maslakhat’s services, the black mare felt better.

"Have you a home, here?" she asked, her attention narrowing suddenly back on her present company, curious where she should look for Taytim in the future once they parted ways. This mare, though young, had fresh insight on a subject El Aran had been contemplating for a significant number of years, and in that way she was reminded of her old friend from the Harbor. The seer had no intention of letting this new friend fall out of touch, and maybe, if the Gods favored her, it would be many, many years before Taytim died.