drag my teeth across your chest
to taste your beating heart

Fishbone had been staying in the Peak for a few weeks, though she had made no effort as of yet to integrate herself into the group of women that lived there. At Bane’s invitation, she had taken refuge upon the mountain to rest and recover from her long journey across the sea. She had spent a few nights recuperating from the physical strain, and a few more dwelling on the emotional turmoil of her departure.

Following that designated period of private wallowing, however, she had decided it was time to push forwards and acquaint herself with the island that she had washed up upon and the horses who happened to live on it. So, as she ventured forth that day, she did so without making any effort to avoid the other souls that haunted this mountain.

When she heard the skitter of loose rock or hoofbeats around the corner, she did not divert her path or pause to let them pass. If she saw another face, she gave them a nod of greeting. She even allowed herself to be open to the idea of conversation, should someone present the opportunity to her.

And yet, the day passed without merit. The sun was setting, casting a spray of peach and gold across the darkening sky. Although the spring days were getting longer and warmer, without its golden gaze the evening took on a slight chill. Fishbone was just about to seek shelter for the night when a scream cut through the still air like a knife.

It was not the invitation she had expected, but when she heard no other sounds of movement in response, she turned herself towards the peak of the mountain and began to climb further up, towards the source of the noise. Stiff and ungainly as her gait was, although a little improved by a few nights rest and free of the ocean’s icy chill, by the time she reached the top the sun had completed its descent and night was upon them.

Fishbone moved slowly with only moonlight to illuminate her path, still unfamiliar with the uneven mountain terrain, but once she was close enough it was easy to locate the source of the scream. The unmistakeable tang of blood and afterbirth in the air gave them away before Fishbone saw them.

Up ahead stood a pale mare, her golden body splashed with white, with a new-born at her feet. The foal was large, even fresh from the womb as he must be, especially compared to his mother. Fishbone knew from experience that she could not have faced an easy birth.

Pausing nearby, she watched them a moment, her mismatched eyes fixed on the pair with intrigue. She felt the pull inside of her, the desire to get closer and inspect the foal, to look into his eyes and welcome him to the world, to tell his mother what kind of life he might have. It was something she had done many times, but not here. Here, she did not know their customs. Here, it was probably best not to get into a fight by intercepting a stranger and her child. Not without permission, anyway.

“May I see him?” she asked, her voice rasping slightly from underuse.

She tilted her head a little, and waited.

FISHBONE
FISHBONE