Rivaini

Rivaini always worried when her lover wandered, but this time it was different. This time, it was less a wistful ache and more a suffocating dread, as if someone had filled the hollow of her chest with stones. And it wasn’t only the length of Faolain’s absence, though her shadow was seldom gone for more than two days. No, it was the inexplicable certainty that something terrible was about to happen— had maybe already happened— and there was nothing that she could do to prevent it. Nothing but to spend every waking hour gazing down from the precipices of her mountainous home, watching the tide rise to consume the sandy shore...and then fall again. Nothing but to chase the swirling tumult of her thoughts, planning for the countless what-ifs that they unearthed.

The latter helped, to a degree. If Rougaru had harmed or taken Faolain, then the silver bay knew that she would repay him in kind. Perhaps his snarky little queen would like to familiarize herself with the Ridge and its hidden dangers— not least of which was the coiled serpent of Rivaini’s own anger. Of course, it was unfair to jump straight to the assumption that the Wolf-King was involved; their home had other enemies. Tyr’s presence here was a shield against the machinations of the Lagoon (and how galling it was to be grateful for this, when she would’ve happily thrust him back into the sea), but there was always Nyimara. Siobhan was gone, but it was unlikely that the witch knew. And even if she did, Rivaini doubted that the chestnut mare’s absence would stay her fury.

Hate’s poison ran deep, and seldom left room for rationality.

In a way, picking at the scabs of old wounds was more than just a means of occupying her time— it also helped to distract her from her loneliness. Without Iscariot, the Ridge felt emptier; colder. Particularly since the first of its children were nearly grown, and beginning to drift away from their homes. Hades. Her son still remained, but he was no longer hers, not truly. Not since the day that he’d been found bleeding and broken, the bright spark of his boyhood all but snuffed out. Now, he was as wild and wary as a shadowcat. Now, he either recoiled from touch or retaliated against such attempts with violence. And he never spoke.

The irony that she was starting to become more like him was not lost to Rivaini.

Somewhere far below, a dark slender creature rose from its bed on the sands. The red Guardian had assumed the sprawled figure to be Selune— her young daughter was prone to hours of careless abandon— but the tangles of hair that she could see were black, not creamy-pale. And the stiff, stalking stride was one Rivaini would recognize anywhere, even in complete darkness. Faolain. Her shadow had returned. The tobiano mare raced to meet her, hooves scrabbling over stone as she slid recklessly down the mountain’s spine. Lungs threatening to burst with each breath, heart squeezing painfully in her chest. Then there, there in the false twilight where the jungle had just begun— there the scarred ‘Teke was standing beside a stream. Lifting her head from the water’s surface, and turning to face the silver bay.

And Rivaini— seeing the wound that curled up from her lover’s lips like a sideways grimace— froze, feeling an echo of it twist her own expression. "Something happened," she murmured in a curiously dead voice, confirming her dread with a shiver. She crept forward slowly after, as if expecting the sort of rebuke that Hades was known for if she should get too close. Reached out hesitantly to touch her muzzle to a shallow gash across the other woman’s cheek, copper-red skin tense and cold, much too cold.

"Fae, tell me what happened."

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