Desert

Across the open expanse of the Desert, with the horizon broken only by the few clusters of trees and scrub that huddled around oases, Cerosi could see Cain surveying the territory before deciding to approach her. Her gold eyes followed him with both affection and guilt, and when he nickered to her in greeting, she responded quietly. She reached out with her muzzle to brush against his soft, whiskered nose, her breath puffing gently against his skin.

“I’m alright,” she began, but it was a lie, and not a well-hidden one. She was terrified, but she was so used to being terrified and not being able to do anything about it that it felt as though she could only shut down. Even if she could tell Cain how scared she was, what good would that do? He couldn’t go back in time and talk her out of her impulsive actions, and that wasn’t his responsibility anyway. She cursed herself inwardly. She felt so stupid. She was old enough to have known better, and yet, here she was, like a lusty two-year-old sulking after the act.

Shaking her head, Cerosi tried to dispel the nagging thoughts of her condition. She tried to think of anything else, and Melisma came to mind; the pregnant mare who had been swept away by the vile Lagoon stallion. “How are you doing?” she asked, genuine concern in her voice alongside the strain of keeping her own fear bottled inside. “I’m sorry to hear about Melisma. Is there anything I can do?” After all Cain had done for her, including making sure she was alright when he was probably not exactly thrilled at her encounter with Ironclad, she figured she owed him.

Tiredly, Cerosi rose to her hooves and shook the dust from her coat. It came off her in little dry rainclouds, falling over the scuffs and indentations left in the ground by her presence. The subject change wasn’t really working; the steel-grey mare still felt a terrible claustrophobia in her own body, and struggled to pay attention to anything else. Her gaze wandered as she listened for Cain’s response, and although she wanted to be invested in the conversation, her mind drifted elsewhere. Not to any particular place, but to a time when the Desert had been new to her, and the taste of freedom did not come a bitten tongue and the copper saltiness of consequence. For this, she felt even guiltier, and her head drooped until her warm breath sent tiny waves through the dust.