where have you gone my feather-light heart?
She stood still and close, but all apprehension seemed to melt away, so that, even in repose, the blind bay mare seemed tranquil, somehow – all the lines of her softened, and the ragged edges of her traumas dulled to blunt edges, so that they couldn’t hurt her any more. Initially, at his touch – the way Iscariot bowed to lean his head against the curve of her neck – Echo had trembled, but she hadn’t pulled away. Instead, she’d shifted her weight, leaning into the physical connection, an almost imperceptible hum sounding in her throat. The only closeness she had ever known that did not sitr up nightmarish memories had been from those of her kin – her parents and her children. They were all far, far from her now, but Echo didn’t miss them quiet so deeply. Not anymore.
Since meeting Iscariot, she hadn’t felt so empty, and this had little to do with the babe she now carried in her belly. In a sense, Iscariot had become more real to her than any other. And despite her blindness, Echo felt like she could see him. Felt like he could see her, the way no other stallion ever had – not even Dances With Wolves. And when he shifted, and spoke, though she yearned to reach for him, if only to feel his breath upon her skin as he murmured (to prove that he was really with her, and not just a dream conjured up to banish the loneliness that threatened to drown her), Echo remained still and quiet, drinking in everything that he gave to her.
“Okay Iscariot,” Echo said softly, earnestly. Silently, she reached for him, muzzle clumsily tracing the line of his jaw before pulling back, with the intent of lingering close, so that the kind-hearted stallion would see the conviction that settled in her features, but for the darkness (which was incomprehensible to her) she had led them into, he would not see it. But perhaps, just perhaps, he might hear it’s cadence in the tender and hopeful timbre of her voice. “I believe you.”
“Iscariot, I --” Echo attempted to interpose, but felt silent as Iscariot seemingly spoke with a steeliness to his voice that the mare hadn’t heard before. It’s tone was one of determination, and Echo was mesmerised by sound of it. Moments passed before she dared to break the spell that had been woven over her. There was no pity in her words when she spoke, no hasty ‘I’m so sorry’, as if these three words eased the burden Iscariot carried when it likely only added to it (the way it always added to the weight that forever lay on Echo’s own chest). “If I had known… The last thing I’d want is to add to your suffering, and I’m – I’m…” There was so much that hung unspoken in the air between them, but it no longer felt so heavy… No, on the contrary, it felt safe and warm, and in her heart – no longer broken but healing – Echo knew that here was one who she’d never need to hide from, never need to run from. “I’ll be forever grateful for what you did for me. It means more than – more than anyone else could understand.”
No more running.
No more hiding.
Again she felt still at his touch, finding a deep and lasting peace suffusing her. It had been long – so long, since last she’d felt this comforted by the closeness of another, and she was almost hungry for the soft caresses placed upon the curve of her neck, and the gentle arranging of the tangled locks of her mane. Another ripple of pain, but Echo ignored it, latching on to the soft and steady rhythm of Iscariot’s voice. But the pain only intensified as she took in what he was saying, the terrible ache shifting and blooming in her chest. Despite herself, despite the calm front she was determined to maintain, Echo felt her breathing hitch in her throat and she took a hasty step forwards, bumping into the stallion she had come to trust – the only one she felt she really could trust.
“No, Iscariot, stay. Please stay. I need you,” came the plea. She shifted her footing, for the last thing she wanted was to crowd him. No, the last thing she wanted was for him to leave. “I could never – would never run from you, it was my own guilt, my own uncertainty -” Echo’s words were a half-sobbed exclamation, her pitch rising in a sudden panic. It was a combination of many things, this sudden shift in her demeanour, and she pressed her lips together, stifling a cry. She knew what was coming next – the pain was always agonising. The first time, her mother had been there to guide her through it.
With Ravena’s birth, she’d struggled through it alone and afraid. It had almost been the end of her. The thought of struggling through that again without someone beside her was terrifying. But with a ragged gasp, she sought to break free from the fear, believing (fiercely hoping) that Iscariot would prove true. “I need you now, Iscariot,” the blind mare managed to wheeze past the lump in her throat. “The foal, it’s coming, I can’t -” And suddenly the space behind the waterfall felt so crowded – the air so stale. It was no longer cosy, but close and oppressive. With a surge of desperation, Echo moved forward, her shoulder pressing against Iscariot’s.
But she did not push against him to force him out of her way, nor did she try and struggle past him. (The last thing she wanted was to cause him pain – to suffer because of her more than he already had.) “I need to get out of here, Iscariot,” Echo whispered, the pronounced tremble in her voice a mirror of the quivering that rattled her dark frame. “And I want you to stay. Not for this – not if you don’t want to. I can – I will be okay.” Bracing against another wave of pain, she clarified, for her own sake, and that of Iscariot’s. Because it was important. It was important to the blind mare that this one thing be made clear between them.
“I want you, Iscariot. More than I need you, I want you. Just to be with me, that’s all, for as little or as long as you can be. I want you.”
Echo
YOU MUSTN’T FORGET WHAT LOVE CAN SEE
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