where have you gone my feather-light heart?
She started at the sound of his voice, having been too caught up in her discomfort to hear him coming in. Immediately, Echo raised her head, muzzle trailing through the air as she sought to confirm Iscariot’s presence by catching his scent. There, beneath the moss-and-damp-and-rock, she caught just a wisp of it, and she felt a sob of relief rise in her throat. But before she could even give voice to her gladness, Iscariot was already stumbling over an apology, and the blooming joy within her sunk like a stone, sat painfully in her chest as she remembered anew why she had kept herself apart. And the sorrows that hung in the air between them only served to add to the weight she carried in her heart.
As she drifted deeper in her emotions, she felt tears come to her eyes, and turned towards the back of the cavern, unsure of how much light filtered in, but desperate to hide them from Iscariot. It wouldn’t do to make him feel worse than he already did. However, after taking a moment to compose herself, Echo turned back, her muzzle bobbing slightly through the air as she strained to hear anything that could help her pinpoint Iscariot’s position. Once she felt her was facing his general direction, only then did she speak, and her words were soft and weary, but they carried an edge to them, a gentle confidence that hummed with the spark of hope that couldn’t be extinguished, no matter how badly her heart broke time and time again.
“Iscariot,” she began, “if you only believe one thing that I say now, please let it be this: you didn’t. You didn’t hurt me. Not like--” Echo found herself gulping down a sudden terror that threatened to paralyse. Not like the others, who chased her down, ignorant of her cries, left her trembling and traumatised. A shiver traced an icy finger down her spine, and Echo felt the breath catch in her throat. Would there ever be a day when she’d be able to speak of the terrors that haunted her? (Would it help, if she did?) A twinge of pain pulled her out of the darkness of her memories and grounded her in the present, where she huddled in a cavern. She wasn’t alone. Iscariot was with her.
“If anyone should be sorry, it’s me,” she continued meekly, her voice lilting as she fought to keep her emotions in check. “And I know it’s not the same, but still I can’t help – I feel like…” The blind mare lapsed into silence a moment, while she inwardly gathered her thoughts and pieced them together in a way that they might be understood. “I was scared, desperate, and I allowed my frantic, frenetic emotions to control me.” With the flick of an ear and a slight shake of her muzzle with its crooked slash of white, Echo cut short her rambling, frustrated that she’d so easily gone off course. But she would not distance herself from this, from him anymore. Avoidance wouldn’t fix anything, and it wasn’t fair to Iscariot.
No more running, no more hiding.
No more facing the world alone, sight unseen.
“For so long I felt like my voice didn’t matter, and I couldn’t bear to be caught unaware again, be brought low, have all power torn from me.” The tremble still threaded through her words, but Echo did all her best to ignore it, and push on, even though it felt so hard to breathe. Her blind eyes prickled with fresh tears, and the mare found herself blinking them away, so they dripped down her cheeks, and the heat of the guilt she carried within her rose to map out the tracks of her sorrow. “And I regret the way I acted, because I feel like I drowned out your voice while using mine… Like I was so intent on it being my choice this time, that I didn’t give you a choice.” Another sob rose and this time she set it free. “I’m so sorry Iscariot.”
It caught Echo by surprise, the way she felt after having said what needed to be said. Only moments ago, she had felt on the edge of a breakdown, but even now, she felt the weight on her chest beginning to let up. “Iscariot,” she repeated with a sigh, wishing she had the physical strength to pull herself up, and the ability to reach for him without stumbling right into him, or first bumping into every wall that rose up around her. “I regret only my own folly, and any way that I have hurt you. It wasn’t you that I came looking for, but I will forever be glad that we met.” Another trickle of tears, albeit of a softer sort. And in the gloom of the little grotto, with its veil of the water granting them privacy, the trickle of water serving as a backdrop to the forming of a new memory, one that in days to come, Echo would recall with fondness (and each time she did, it would be as gold poured in to the cracks of her healing heart, so that at some future time, she’d shine even in the deepest darkness, and find herself stronger for having been broken).
She found the strength, made the effort, and carefully shuffled forwards.
Slowly, slowly, until she felt Iscariot’s breath upon her muzzle, the warmth of his body against the cool dankness in the air, and the fine mist of water. And gently, she reached to touch him, brushed her muzzle against his damp cheek and sought the curve of his ear, so that she could whisper a truth that was sacred to her. “You saved me, Iscariot. You saved me.”
Echo
YOU MUSTN’T FORGET WHAT LOVE CAN SEE
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