Common

Faolain took note of the painted mare’s lack of reaction to her claim. She seemed unbothered, mildly curious about her surroundings, but not totally present. Faolain wondered where she was in her mind. The other mare focused on her, but it seemed partial, like one might focus on a leaf of a slightly different color, or a brightly colored insect. This was intriguing to Faolain, although she had to admit she was used to half-attention; others sometimes found her interesting, but she was small and slight, and often was not taken seriously.

I belong nowhere, the mare said, her voice both full and a hiss all at once. It was almost difficult to comprehend the voice - it was like that of a snake, if a snake could speak, Faolain thought. Her ears twisted thoughtfully on her head. Part of her regretted the claim she had laid on the glass-shard mare, if only because she would have liked to see someone else’s attempt. Had the mare let her close only because she was not a stallion? Or would she have shown the same cold curiosity toward a male?

When Faolain asked of her purpose on the Crossing, the painted mare offered only deliberate silence. In a strange way, Faolain related - she had come to the Islands similarly, and probably would have responded the same had she been asked about her own reasons. She probably wasn’t quite as removed as the painted mare in front of her, but she hadn’t exactly been intertwined in anything when she had arrived.

Accepting the silence as an answer, Faolain gave a curt nod. It was becoming clear that the black Ridge mare could say little that would influence the other woman, but conversation had never really been her strong suit anyway. If this had been anyone else, the slight mare might have simply shrugged and moved on — there were few things on which Faolain wanted to spend energy, and collecting herd members was not on her list. But her hackles had raised the moment she set eyes on Salka, and her skin simply insisted on crawling in her presence, and this was immensely interesting to Faolain. The mental image of a discarded fang of wickedly sharp glass came to her again, waiting for an unlucky someone to step close.

Was Faolain that unlucky someone? She couldn’t justify walking away from this mare who made her skin crawl so persistently, but she also knew she couldn’t just pocket her to examine at home later. She had not yet experienced this feeling of possession, borne of revulsion and curiosity; and she didn’t know how to act on it.

Faolain was not born a leader. She had built the life of one, but mostly out of necessity. She had never wanted followers, and so she never bothered to care about obedience, and even now she could not find it in her to dominate the way many leaders did. She thought it was a waste of energy. Her followers in the Ridge were there by choice, and if any harm came to them, she would extinguish the problem as best she could. Faolain did not punish or compromise — she simply allowed the ones she cared for close, and pushed all else away. Yes, her conflict with Rougaru had hardened her in many ways, and her protection of the Ridge had moved away from neutrality and became savage over the seasons, but she still found herself lacking the desire for control. She wanted to draw the black mare back to the Ridge, but ultimately, she did not need to. And upon realizing this, she decided that Salka’s choice to accompany her was not worth caring about.

She would either follow, or she would not, as everyone in Faolain’s life had chosen.

“You can come with me,” Faolain stated simply. It was not an invitation, or a request; just a fact, spoken in a flat tone, as one uses for stating facts. Then she continued past the glass-shard mare and made her way back into the waves.