It felt like an eternity before the fear released its hold on Lilika's mind. Freed of that last tether, however, the blue roan's mind began to drift - pulling away from consciousness like the tide from the shore. It was in that moment that she thought she heard Gnome's voice calling out to her, thought she saw him even as the warm chocolate of her eyes was concealed behind drooping lids. Lily yearned towards the darkness that lingered just out of reach, believing that her dreams had decided to be kind and grant her a rare moment of reprieve from sorrow. But her senses resisted, clinging to precipice before oblivion with extraordinary strength. From scent and sound and sight, they already knew what the blue mare's mind rejected.

Gnome was here. She had found him - or rather, they had found each other.

A gentle touch; little more than a whisper of soft skin on her cheek. The familiar tug of lips in the dark tangle of her hair. Lily began to tremble as the truth began to reach her, truly reach her. She was terrified to open her eyes, certain that she would see him fade before her - or perhaps even transform, the white blanket and red skin becoming seamless obsidian. The softness of his blue eye darkening and turning cruel. And her heart could not take bear it - it may have been broken long ago, but hope had enabled the shards to cling together in a delicate arrangement that could not last.

One more blow was all it would take to break her.

But neither could she silvery mare forever in the twilight of uncertainty. Finally, she forced her eyes to open, a guarded expression in their endless depths that had never been there before. It was the wariness of a wild animal that has known what it is to be stalked; the skepticism of any cynic in the face of something so pure and good. Yet with each inhale that Lily drank in the taste of her boy with the blanket - and with each exhale that they shared - the tension began to drain from her body. And suddenly she was melting into him, the soft velvet of her muzzle seeking to reacquaint itself with every inch of the stallion's body at once.

There could be no doubt in her mind any longer - Gnome was here, he was real. The next exhale left Lilika's lips as a sob, and she pressed her face to his, squeezing her dark eyes shut once again. It did little to stem the flow of tears that dampened them both, as salty and warm as the sea she'd just left. Nothing could have. Her tears were as much from joy as they were sadness, as much from the pain of the past as they were the overwhelming power of this single moment. It was a much-needed catharsis but one that may well have been frightening in its intensity.

Of course, it was often the said that the stronger the storm, the shorter its life - and the tempest of Lilika's tears was no different. Soon the roan mare had hiccuped herself into silence, and a heartbeat later she reluctantly pulled her head back and blinked her watery eyes open. As her gaze lingered on every detail that she could drink in, Lily was surprised by how little Gnome had changed. By comparison, she felt haggard and gaunt; a crone with a gentle sway beginning to curve her spine and a peppering of grey hairs at the end of her muzzle.

And the scars. These dark spots were densest (and most visible) around her flanks, which Lily had quickly learned to present in the moments of her captor's anger as the least painful and debilitating place to be bitten. But there were a few present in the hollow of her throat as well, and one ear was tattered so that its tip folded slightly forward. Lily could not help but to think of these imperfections as she gazed at Gnome, who appeared as flawless to her as the day she had unwillingly left. Had she ever been so beautiful as he? What had even drawn the stallion to her, in the beginning?

It was difficult for her to remember; the joy that they had known together was so distant that it seemed like a different life led by a different mare. She didn't know if there was any returning to it, either - perhaps Gnome had moved on. Lilika didn't want to know; she was afraid to ask, to hear the words that would shatter her. So instead she remained silent, stretching out the first moment that she had felt whole in a very, very long time.

mare .. 13 years .. blue roan .. moriesian .. 16 hands