you shouldn’t walk where the hemlock grows

Much had happened since the last time Faolain saw the crest of the Ridge. In her moment of weakness, she had disappeared into the bounds of the lower jungle; where the land was shadowed not only by the dense trees, but by the looming titan that gave the Ridge its name. It took more of her strength than she cared to admit for her to finally emerge and face the calamities that had befallen her home.

She was ashamed of hiding. It was uncharacteristic, but that didn’t say much for her character considering the characteristic thing for her to do would be to run away. Run, or hide? Neither was an acceptable response to a few tough situations, but Faolain had never stuck around in any one place for a tough situation to even catch up to her. This was new, and overwhelming, and to a certain extent she knew she couldn’t beat herself up. It was useless to do so, but she could not halt the intrusive thoughts of blame and shame from worming into her head all the same. At least she had Rivaini to keep things from falling apart in her absence, and it certainly felt like things might fall apart any minute.

Maybe she wasn’t cut out for this. Faolain couldn’t seem to find the line between her responsibilities and Ailill’s. She couldn’t seem to figure out when to step in and help, and how long she should sit back and let the golden stallion fight his own battles. She did not want to cause him offense, or overstep in his herd and his leadership, but it was so difficult not to try and help. She liked Ailill. She cared for the children he watched over with Siobhan, regardless of any biological claim he had to them. And it was beginning to tear at Faolain that Siobhan had - not once, but twice now - been taken forcefully from her home and her children and her mate, and Faolain had done nothing to stop it.

At what point did she try to help? She hadn’t even spoken to Ailill since before the first challenge, and for that she felt immense regret. Faolain was accustomed to erring on the side of too much space rather than risk smothering anyone, but she should have at least checked in long ago. She should have gone to see Siobhan’s children. If she could not force Nyimara to free the red mare and leave her in peace, she should at least take care of Sio’s children. She owed her, and Ailill, that much.

When she did finally emerge from the abyss of Atlantean jungle, it was the young ones she sought out. Faolain trailed after Roisin’s scent when she caught it, and followed the young girl up, to the peak of the Ridge Faolain had missed in her cowardly hiding. Roisin was the eldest, and though she intended to find the rest of the children at some point as well, Roisin was a good start. She did not expect a friendly reaction from any of them, but that was okay. Her offer of… well, anything, was not dependent on whether or not they accepted her company. Faolain really had no idea how to interact with children, especially ones experiencing emotional turmoil of such intensity as this was surely causing them, but she had to try.

By the time she reached the topmost height of the Ridge, Roisin was already gone, so Faolain doubled back. She had taken only a few steps down the rocky trail before she stopped, listening.

Oh, no.

Hiccuping cries reached Faolain’s forward-pressed ears from a short distance away. What had she expected? A perfectly happy young filly? Of course not, and Faolain cursed herself silently for apparently convincing herself that confronting a child in grieving might be easy. Faolain rarely turned away from a challenge simply because it might be difficult, but this was different. She hesitated. For a few seemingly endless moments, Faolain waited, just out of sight up the path, but the crying did not stop and standing her doing nothing was an absolute waste of time.

She took a deep breath and stepped forward, letting her hooves slip on the stones and send them clattering lightly down the path. A courtesy, she thought; she did not want to sneak up on the painted girl.

”Roisin?” she said quietly, halting when she could see Siobhan’s daughter leaning against the harsh face of the Ridge. It was silly to ask if she was alright, so Faolain didn’t bother. ”I’m sorry,” was the only other thing she could think to say, and that just seemed equally as stupid. But, somehow, it felt necessary. Faolain was sorry, immensely so, but she would not burden Roisin with her own feelings of guilt. Instead, she let the phrase hang in the air between them, referring equally to the dark mare’s interruption of Roisin’s private moment and to the terrible situation in general.

With nothing else to say, Faolain leaned against the stone bluff beside Roisin, and let herself simply exist with the young mare for as long as she allowed the company.

mare | black | 14hh | akhal-teke