Faolain dozed in the heart of the Ridge, lulled by the sounds of the rain thrumming gently on the wide fronds of the jungle vegetation. The rain had lasted all day, and stopped some time after Faolain fell asleep, for when she awoke the night was quiet and moonlight filtered freely through the dense canopy, no longer obstructed by heavy clouds. This was the time of warm seasons across the isles, so Atlantis’s usual population of birds was smaller, but that was only relative to the parts of the year when the cold drove birds from across the Isles to the Atlantean warmth. Even the thin flocks here were numerous, and their bright colors spattered the Ridge’s slopes and cliffs through the gently moving leaves.

But for now, the birds slumbered, and the only sound Faolain could hear was soft hoofbeats. As she slowly woke, her ears swiveled forward and she raised her dark head. One of the children must be out playing (was it playing? Or was it more serious? She wondered with growing alarm). Faolain extracted herself from Rivaini and Hades, carefully so as not to wake them, and padded toward the hoofbeats. She was comforted as they became more clear - they did not sound panicked, and she slowed her pace as she came near. She lifted her head and scented the air, and was surprised to find that the scent of the night owl was not of the Ridge.

Faolain continued until only a few feet of undergrowth separated her from the outsider. She was curious more than she was concerned, then, and she pushed forward until she could see the filly. The golden coat and the airy movements reminded her of Ailill, and when she laughed out loud, it startled Faolain, but not unpleasantly. She had never been good with young ones, but recently she had begun to truly enjoy the company of children. It was hard not to, and with the Ridge housing more foals than adults, it wasn’t like she had much choice.

With a quiet nicker of greeting, Faolain stepped out of the clinging foliage and into the dappled moonlight. Her coat, which had once been flat and unmarred, now caught the pale light with her constellation of scars. She was chiseled and chipped as though she were made of black stone, but her face was kind and open despite its harsh features as she stopped near the golden child. ”You’re up late,” she said, her voice jesting rather than truly chiding.

faolain

mare // 6 // EE aa // 14hh