Falls

mostly void, partially stars

He dreamed thinly of his sister, whom he had left behind on the mainland. They hadn’t gotten along, but Nils still missed her, in his own way. Sure, they had made a pretty shitty team, but they were still a team. Now it was just him.

He supposed this was better; this was the way it ought to be. He awoke slowly, dim sadness creeping in to replace the dream as it faded. Could he be lonely? It was unlikely; he had never really been lonely before, and he had hardly been a social creature. There was probably a word that closer described what he felt, but Nils could not think of it. He was just… alone, and it made him feel some type of way, a very confusing type of way that made him crave company but loathe the thought of such a thing at the same time. He sighed deeply, the sigh turning into a yawn which billowed steam out of his flared nostrils and into the crisp morning air. The cold was comforting. Nils had always preferred the winter, despite its overwhelming presence in the land of his home. Maybe that was why he liked it; there was hardly any other option. Either way, he was well equipped to handle it, and his wild curtain of a mane flew out in a spray around his neck when he shook his massive body.

He hadn’t moved very far from the shore he had arrived on, but so far he had not seen many other bodies on this side of the island. He mostly kept to himself, preferring not to share his internal conflicts with strangers, on the very few occasions there were strangers around. Every few days he might hear hoof beats, and retreat into the shadows surrounding the Falls where he spent most of his time. This morning, however, he heard a tiny voice.

The roan stallion still retreated, but not as far. He watched as a bleeding mother guided a foal into the trees from the beach, and his heart fluttered a little bit, but he didn’t know why. The mare sank into the grass, pulling the child to her and comforting her, and for several long moments Nils remained still. He didn’t want to startle the pair.

But he also didn’t want to just stalk from the shadows. That felt… wrong, to see and not be seen. Especially to be seeing this injured mare with her vulnerable child. It would not sit well with him to just walk away, and keeping an eye out for her without her knowledge felt dishonest in its own way. So, with another sigh, the towering draft stallion stepped back out.

”Excuse me,” he rasped, his voice hardly more than a whisper, as he had not spoken out loud in… he couldn’t remember how long. He cleared his throat, allowing the deep baritones of his voice to emerge somewhat, still rough from neglect. He had stopped several paces away, giving the mother more than enough space to bolt away if she wanted, but he did not want to encourage such an act with that injury and with the small foal to bring along. ”Are you alright?”

stallion | liver chestnut roan | 18hh | belgian draft