Tigerlily

Tigerlily stood alone near the brook in the clearing that Björn had shown her the day she’d arrived, the silhouette of her still and serene. Björn had told her of his intent to meet with Warsaw, and the buckskin mare had bid him farewell with a tender caress and a promise that she’d be waiting right here for him upon his return. She knew not if his intentions were to confront Warsaw immediately, or to wait a while. Either course of action was risky. The grullo stallion certainly had a lot on his mind, as well as the responsibility of the safety and wellbeing of the rest of his herd. Tigerlily understood this, and said as much, expressing gratitude that he’d left the others to come looking for her.

Her injured knees still ached, but inwardly, she was at peace. All was well between herself and Björn, and though there was something unspoken that still lingered (she’d not named the father of the foal she carried, and Björn had not asked), he now knew her great and terrible truth, had freed her from it. This enabled Lily to rest easy, and she found herself drifting in and out of a light and refreshing sleep. It was almost time for her to deliver the child she carried, and the thought of this filled her with nervous energy. This was her second pregnancy, the first which had been forced upon her had resulted in a still birth. To this day, Tigerlily still carried guilt over this. Her poor, perfectly beautiful daughter, her coat so pure and pristine… Did the child she carried now sense her uncertainty? Was that why they had become so restless?

The sound of soft footfalls and the whisper of movement among the foliage served to draw the buckskin splash mare from her fretting, and she turned her pale face towards the one approaching through the thick jungle, her blue eyes sparkling with warmth and affection, with devotion. " Björn?" she called softly, the name of the one she loved so at home upon her tongue. "Ég er hérna. I’m still --" Tigerlily’s words faltered as a stranger prowled into view. A stab of fear set her heart to a quick pounding rhythm as the bald-faced mare suddenly felt vulnerable and extremely isolated.

Why, why hadn’t she sought the safety of the herd? The truth was that, without Björn nearby, Tigerlily didn’t feel comfortable. A few of the mares seemed kind and sensible, but there was one who only carried aggression in her heart – at least as far as the rest of the mares were concerned. She sought to put herself above the others, but in Tigerlily’s eyes, she was only alienating herself from the herd, and disrupting the unity that was slowly being built, preventing the herd from feeling like a real family.

"Who are you?" Tigerlily asked of the stranger before her now, her voice terse and taut with anxiety. Despite her uncertainty, she stood tall, even as she noted vague similarities between him and Björn – sturdy build, thick mane, scarring… Tigerlily swallowed, and felt her legs begin to quiver. The scar across his eye was unsettling. Or perhaps it wasn’t the scar at all, but rather the way he looked at her, the way he carried himself. Her golden brown ears turned back, and she snorted, shuffling a hoof among the soil beneath her. "You should leave," she warned, grateful that her voice didn’t betray her fear by breaking.

"My king doesn’t take kindly to trespassers." Tigerlily spoke with confidence now, certain in her belief that her words were true enough, at least as far as skulking vagabonds like this brute were concerned. She arched her neck and tucked her chin close, daring to allow her gaze to dart away from the dark stallion towards the partially hidden trail she was familiar with. If she could just get a little closer, perhaps she’d be able to make a break for the safety of the other mares, and Björn – if he was still roaming the Ridge.

the lion-hearted tigress of the ridge