Rivaini

It was heart-wrenching to witness the force of Çiçek’s sorrow, but the silver bay did her best to remain steadfast throughout its storm. Rivaini blamed herself for the depth of the golden mare’s pain, but even if she had not— even then, her actions would not have changed. In the short eternity of her sun’s absence, the Guardian had finally learned to listen to the call of her own heart. This was the real reason that she offered everything that she was to the spotted dunalino— not the artifice of pity, but the authenticity of love. True, she would have preferred that their reunion be a happier one. But what was one more figurative night, especially when it was spent at the side of someone she truly cared about?

And with Çiçek beside her, there was the promise of a dawn at the end of all this darkness.

Rivaini wasn’t able to understand the melodic words of her companion’s foreign tongue, but she did understand the subtle note of self-loathing that lingered beneath them. Again, the red woman did not speak— she only held the other mare closer, trying to communicate in physical contact what was not so easy to express with words. You deserve this and so much more, sun of my life, the silver-haired Andalusian might have said if self-doubt hadn’t silenced her. She might have also waxed poetic about the love that Çiçek commanded simply by being herself. How the blanketed mare was worthy every thought, every touch, every shared second. How she should never doubt in that worth, even when the devotion of those around her may falter. But Rivaini had never been eloquent, and could not trust herself to say what was right— particularly in this moment that mattered so much.

Then Çiçek began to talk again, her voice haunted, and the silver bay could focus on nothing else.

Last Fall, in the Cove… Her beloved sun began, and Rivaini listened. She listened as the other woman spoke of illness and the Crossing, a feeling of foreboding darkening her thoughts. She listened knowing that she should never have asked— but that it was too late to rebury what her question had unearthed. Pressing her lips to the curve of Çiçek’s withers, she sought to communicate her presence and support without interrupting. But when the soft voice soldiered on, she could not help but to tense— her muscular body growing as rigid as if she was standing on the frigid shore of Solomon’s home. He found me. Again, Rivaini was not certain, but she suspected. And then— when Çiçek continued— sehe knew.

I thought I was with you. The fissure that the auburn mare had formed in her own heart was torn open anew. And out of it, hatred flower in a torrent. Hatred for Rougaru, whose meddling had clearly not ended at the boundaries of the Ridge. Hatred for the nameless and faceless individuals of the Crossing, who had not protected the vulnerable creature in their midst. And hatred for herself— for driving Çiçek away, for not going to her sooner.

If she had, none of this would have happened.

Rivaini had almost forgotten their young audience when Ailill’s son spoke up, offering to bring Solomon to the Ridge and his missing lover. Given Çiçek’s evident distress, it was an idea that the Guardian herself might have reached when rational thought finally found its way past the veil of her shock. But the dunalino surprised them both by adamantly opposing the suggestion. And— helpless, but determined to help her sun in any way that she could— Rivaini could only defer to the wishes of her companion against the writhing guilt that it invoked. For now, she would refrain from passing the news of Çiçek’s return to the Cove’s tobiano King. For now, she would strive to be everything that Çiçek needed. And so the silver bay swallowed her doubts and leaned into the slender woman’s touch, aching at the telltale dampness that clung to her pale mane. And at the final words that her sorrow-darkened sun spoke. I was wrong, and I’m so sorry.

“No, Çi. I was wrong,” she responded softly; her voice scarcely more than a whisper. “I should have come to you. I should have told you how I felt...how I still feel. But I won’t ask for you to forgive me, Çi— I would sooner you save that forgiveness for yourself.”

Silence descended then— and weak, trembling, Rivaini could not bear to break it again.

mare / seven / silver bay tobiano / andalusian mix / 15.3hh