These chains were cut to fit my broken bones
He whispers a promise to her, and it echoes in Tigerlily’s ears, her mind and heart, loud as thunder, shaking loose any fear inside her and ridding her of it. Forgiveness, for all her wrong? Without even knowing her mistakes, even though at least some of them would shape the future that awaited them? As uncertain as Tigerlily had been before, of what would become of her now, she was just as certain that there was no life for her now, not without this stallion in it, the one who had quelled the very heart of the storm within the buckskin mare. Not even Dances With Wolves had it in him to forgive her.
“There are no words… Not in my language, not even in yours, nor any other, that can explain how much what you just said, your impartial forgiveness, means to me.” Tigerlily felt so alive inside, like the static in the air had infected her lungs, charged her heart. And she knew in this moment, without a doubt, that even though she didn’t even know the name of the one beside her yet, she would love him like she’d never love anyone.
They had found one another in this storm, and though they’d never met before, their hearts weren’t strangers to one another.
My name is Björn. Tigerlily’s eyes glimmer as she snatches his name out of the air, shaping it in her mouth immediately, like she cannot be without it.
“Björn,” she mouths, his name dripping from her pale lips.
Son of Dögun. There is pride in his voice and it fills Tigerlily with longing. She had never known her father, and it was unlikely she ever would. Any kind of paternal relationship she might have had was denied her. But even as she struggles to understand all that Björn must have had with his father, Tigerlily does not, cannot bring herself to envy him.
The late Pony King. It is clear enough to her by now that they are both broken in some way, and by his very words, Tigerlily feels like she gleans just a little of all he’s lost. She tucks her muzzle into the crook of his neck for a few beats of her heart.
“I’m sorry that he is gone, Björn. Your father. You must miss him.” Peace settles upon them, only muted sounds of the storm audible now, reaching back towards them from the distance. Björn’s words linger in her mind, and behind his name, beyond his pride and loss, she realises that he named the place he was from.
Of the Inlet.
Tigerlily shivers, recalling with horror the only time she had ever set foot in the northern territory, but she presses her muzzle to Björn’s skin, and his rich scent banishes the nightmare from her mind. She never breathed a word of this to anyone, not her brothers, and certainly not Dances With Wolves. But perhaps,
in time…
“Do you believe in Fate?” she asks of him, her voice soft and cool as the misty rain that had begun to settle upon them like a glistening blanket. And she wonders how her life might have turned out, had it been Björn and not a Beast that had found her upon the Inlet shores. The Bay was and always would be her true home, though she had not been able to return there for some time now, not with the weight of all the grief that awaited her there, the stifling aura of loss.
“In time,” she repeats him yet again, grateful for the gift he’s given her, the whisper of a promise. It fills her with joy, and she bows her head, overcome by the prospect of coming to know him intimately. Tigerlily imagines she will wake each morning with the sunrise so she has the chance to view him in the gentle light that banishes all darkness, and even the parts of him that are flawed may become beautiful in her soft blue eyes.
At the sight of his smile, the glimmer of pride on his face again, Tigerlily feels radiant for the first time in her life, because she’s the one who made him smile, and he feels proud of
her.
“Ég er hérna Björn, son of Dögun.” Her words are rough and heavy for the intensity of the emotions she feels in that moment, now that she fully realises at least part of the precious declaration he had made.
“I am here and I do not wish to leave you.” And with slow, unhurried movements, again Tigerlily shifts and positions herself to bow her head, and tuck it beneath his neck again, this time low and close to his chest. And it is to the heart that beats inside him, not far from her golden ear, that she pleads;
“I need you. Show me how I can find my way home.”
T I G E R L I L Y
the steel is cold; it feels like home.