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When the snow began to fall and cover Tinuvel in blankets of pure white, Maia was struck with two realizations. The first was that the steady swell of her belly, growing day by day, told her what she’d wished for had come true; in spring, goodness willing, Maia would be a mother for the first time. The second was that she’d been living in the Cove with Solomon and his family for an entire year. Both things brought her a sort of euphoria that she couldn’t quite put into words. It just made her smile as she looked off, over the expanse of her king’s Cove and let her honey-gold eyes briefly fall with fondness over the other horses that made the populace here.

A family.

That’s all she’d been wanting this whole time. The thing she’d been running from her whole life, too afraid to commit to. Sometime soon, when she stole a moment of Solomon’s affections for her own, she’d have to remember to thank him for inspiring her to take the leap of faith.

When had she become such a lovestruck fool? Maia could only imagine the hard time her older sister, Klara, would give her if she could see her now. When they were younger Klara had once made Maia cry by teasing her relentlessly about her future as a swaybacked broodmare. Oswin had hushed Maia as she hiccuped and buried her tear-streaked face against her mother’s white chest, dramatically over telling the story as only young children could. Klara had gotten a good scolding for that, Maia remembered with a grin.

Blinking, Maia pulled her focus back as she took herself from her wandering thoughts. She shook her dark golden face, silver hair falling in a delicate, shimmering curtain as it settled against her skin. As her sights settled down the shoreline, she noticed a dark mare with pale hair and a white-speckled face who she couldn’t remember seeing before. Curiosity too great to ignore, Maia whinnied out to her and started down the beach toward her.

She could smell the sea on the mare once she was close enough, and see how her winter coat was still somewhat damp. Maia herself had washed up on Tinuvel’s shore last winter, early on in the season, and had learned some hard truths about surviving on this northern island during one of it’s roughest months. “You must be freezing,” she said sympathetically, “I’m Maia. Are you here for Solomon?” She assumed entirely that an unattended mare washing up on the Cove’s shore was likely here to see her King.