Common

Silence prevailed while the two studied one another in the wary manner of all wild beasts, their warm breath forming veils of mist in the cold air. Through these clouds, Jaskier’s gaze raked over the colorful mural of the mare’s coat, traced the curves of her body. He was only a man, and could not help but to look. But where most men might yearn for beauty, it was the stranger’s flaws that captivated him. The hollow valleys that had formed on both sides of her belly; the hunger-sharpened angles of shoulder and hip. If every scar held a story, then the buckskin wondered what these marks were monuments of. And though she had not yet answered his first question, there were a thousand more crawling on the tip of his tongue. Questions he would not ask— could not— ask, but that fueled the curious burn of his molten-gold eyes.

The moment was fleeting, but even after it passed, there were echoes of it that would always remain with him. Such as the queer little headshake with which the woman greeted him, or the confusion that furrowed her face when he spoke. As if she was trying to grasp some secret meaning that lay hidden beneath his words. But after a beat, she surrendered— though only in part, given the strength with which her eyes held his— and answered. And out of everything Jaskier would remember in the days, seasons, and years that followed this meeting, the syllables she spoke were the most powerful.

Something worthwhile.

It was the stallion’s turn to be speechless now, the curve of his neck flexing as he tucked his chin and immersed himself in the sea of his thoughts. Though her response had peeled back a single layer of the mystery that surrounded her, Jaskier found that there were more beneath. More, perhaps, than he could ever hope to unravel. But just as the intrigue of the islands had bound him to this place, so too was he now tethered to the pintaloosa mare. Tethered by the hunger that had only been whetted by this first clue she had given. Because now that he knew that she was seeking something worthwhile, the brindle wanted— no, needed— to know what she found to be worthwhile. But this answer, he suspected, would not be as simple as finding the right question to ask.

If the path that had led her here was as convoluted as his own, perhaps even she didn’t know.

“Hmm.” Jaskier broke the lengthy seconds of silence with a wordless hum, amber eyes probing the shadows that surrounded them. Knowing the words he was going to speak, but not how to speak them without causing offense. And then brushing that concern away with a twitch of his inky tail, throwing the caution that had once defined him to the wind. “You’re doing this all wrong, then. Nothing worthwhile is ever gained in waiting. You have to find it, to fight for it.” Tossing his head to flick the dark curls of his forelock out of one eye, he barked out a laugh, twisting to face his companion again. “But you don’t have to take my word for it. Wait here, if you will. Perhaps I will even wait with you, unless you would prefer that I go.”

His slender body shifted as if preparing to take that leave, though there was nowhere else he’d rather be right now— not even the warm, golden beach of his home. Not even at Enya’s side, though that was one of the few places that he’d ever begun to understand who he was. Some things, after all, didn’t need to be understood.

Some things simply were, like the gravity that had pulled two drifting creatures together to share this moonlit meadow.