Common

Regret had filled her almost as soon as she turned away from Rougaru in Paradise.

She had only wanted to help, but so great was her disgust for the Wolf King and his treatment of that poor mare that she had only succeeded in making things worse. There was no possible way the red-haired woman wouldn’t suffer worse for Faolain’s decision to meddle in Rougaru’s affairs, and consequently shatter their already-fragile alliance. It hadn’t exactly been an impulsive decision — she had meditated on ending the alliance for a while — but it was foolish to do it in such a way, and Faolain deeply regretted the casualties that had resulted from her political clumsiness.

This feeling of regret was new to Faolain, and it did not sit well. She was not used to regretting her actions. The slight black mare was used to her philosophy of ‘measure twice, cut once’ which had never lead her astray. Messing up was not exactly foreign to her, but she almost always messed up in a way she had calculated. Her actions were almost always carefully planned, and she was always ready when things went wrong.

This time was an exception, and she found the feelings of regret and inadequacy to be unsustainable. She had to do something — even if she couldn’t fix her screwup, she could bury it under meaningful actions. She could learn from Rougaru, and act on the new knowledge she had about the cruelty of the Islands.

Faolain had never been soft. She had always been armored, if lightly so; but now, she layered up. This world favored men like Rougaru, and women like Xiomara. Faolain’s time of calculated neutrality had come to an end. She would not know peace in the Ridge until she changed her ways.

The black ‘Teke had rarely ever made her way to the Common, and those few cases had been without purpose. Now, sought out the treacherous land with only a faint idea of what she was looking for; a half-formed purpose, but a purpose nonetheless. She hardly paused for breath on the beach of the central isle before striding inland, eyes sharp as they scanned the surrounding field. She did not have to look very long.

The painted black mare stood further down the beach, surveying the area with a similar hunger. Something felt off about the stranger, something Faolain couldn’t name, but it sparked her curiosity. She seemed better suited to handle the Common than any other Faolain had seen here. For a few minutes, she simply stood aside and watched, waiting to see if the Fall season would dull a stallion’s common sense enough to approach. The hormones were apparently not enough, and the mare was left alone. She seemed to Faolain like a shard of broken glass: dangerous, and not to be let out of sight.

Lowering her head, Faolain rolled toward the mare like a droplet of ink. Her hard copper eyes betrayed nothing but her curiosity as she approached, ears cupped forward with attention. As she closed the distance between them, her ears slipped back and disappeared into the cascade of her mane. She placed a claiming mark on the dark withers of the slightly taller woman before allowing her ears to twist forward again and her head to raise slightly. She circled once, before halting and appraising the stranger with her calculated gaze.

“You don’t belong here,” she observed. She stood with military posture as she considered the glass-shard mare and her glacial eyes. “What brings you to this place?” She didn’t think it was necessary to warn the mare about the Common, even considering the season. It didn’t matter either way — the Ridge had different perils to navigate.