Common

you shouldn’t walk where the hemlock grows

The past few weeks had been… depressing, to say the least.

Faolain was frustrated. She had watched Ailill suffer a second defeat at the hooves of the bitter Nyimara, and shortly after had suffered her own defeat beneath Rougaru’s onslaught of blows. Above the Ridge had settled a dark atmosphere of melancholy, from which Faolain sought to escape (with some shame) into the depths of the jungle. She could not avoid Rougaru’s terms, and Siobhan did not deserve Nyimara’s vengeance, but there was little the black ‘Teke could do about it.

So she left. With Sio gone once again, the population in the Ridge was dwindling, and Faolain was not the only jungle cat to reside in the lush mountainside. They weren’t exactly abundant, but real mountain cats did prowl the dense undergrowth of the Ridge, deterred by the numbers of inhabitants. They weren’t quite there yet, but if Faolain and Rivaini lost another of their herd, the cats might get bold.

And anyway, feeling useless was never one of Faolain’s strong suits. Trapped in the Ridge by the dread of Rougaru’s challenge and by the hopelessness of Siobhan’s capture, Faolain seemed to wither. In addition to her desire to escape the heavy atmosphere - perhaps it was not heavy at all, and entirely in her own head, which was a very likely possibility, but still - there was always the chance a wandering soul might be interested in the Ridge, and could use a guide to reach it. It was, after all, a land of abundance and beauty, a secondary attraction to Faolain right after the simple fact that it was a safe place for her and her family to live.

Fall on Atlantis was mild, and the chilly air bit teasingly at Faolain’s wet hide when she reached the Crossing. It took her a few minutes and a good shake to adjust, but the sun helped, and she knew she was lucky that today’s weather was kind aside from the comparative coolness. There was not yet frost on the ground for her to leave tracks through, and as she slipped into the trees that huddled at the edge of the sandy shore, she picked up a lazy trot.

Wiry muscles flexed beneath her shiny pitch coat as the sun bloomed on her skin once again. The trees had given way to a clearing, and as afternoon light bathed the clearing ahead of her, Faolain struggled to push away the shadows bathing her own mind. It was difficult, and she was not practiced, for she rarely felt frustration for longer than a few moments at a time - this time had been days. It made her irritable and angsty, though her face remained impassive as she strolled the leaf-littered edge of the trees.

It did not take her long to notice the grullo stallion. He was almost too bright for her; his cheery energy was in stark contrast to her stormy mood, and watching his confident, lofty steps almost made her ashamed of her demeanor. She tried to push away this shame, for it was of no use to her, and she was committed at this point to just waiting out her spell of depression. But the grullo’s energy was infectious, as it turned out, and Faolain found herself wanting more of it, if for no other reason than to distract her from her dismal, uncharacteristically moody attitude.

When the bright stallion paused to graze in the open grass, Faolain gave a light whinny and trotted until she was only a few paces away. Her expression was neutral (she was too weary to bother trying to look friendly, though she felt bad for looking unfriendly) but her eyes glittered with mischief. Somehow too tired for words, Faolain discovered she had abundant physical energy, and thought a game with the bright stallion might be better for now than a conversation. She craved the excitement of a game or a race as though it could make her forget her problems. For a time, it probably could.

She whipped her dark tail against her flanks, snapping the ends audibly against her flesh, and raised one front hoof and pawed the air before her. She studied him, beckoning with her tail to a chase, seeming to float above the drying grass on delicate legs. If he took the bait, she would bolt away, leading him around the Commons a few times before she felt she was ready to start a real conversation.

mare | black | 14hh | akhal-teke