don't let the daylight rob your dreams

Time passes in a blur. The days and weeks muddle into one another in a hazy streak of monotony. Before Svenja knows it, autumn has shifted to winter and winter into spring. The Bay is beginning to thaw, as much as any place on Tinuvel can thaw at least. Winter's icy grasp unwraps itself from the territory, the snow retreating from the beaches and meadows and drawing back up the mountainside. She barely notices its absence except in idle passing.

It's a bright, cloudless day. The sun hangs high in the sky and the birds weave a cheerful melody from the safety of the trees. The wind still carries the chill of winter and it nips at Svenja's nose and cheeks as she sequesters herself on a narrow stretch of beach on the Bay's southwestern border, where it converges with the Cove. Jagged black rocks flank the coast, only their faces worn by the unrelenting forces of nature. In this spot they draw close to the shoreline, nearly kissing the water and leaving only a small strip of exposed beach and providing quick passage between the neighboring territories.

She's so close, that invisible line taunting her from only a dozen yards away. There's no one around that she can see, dark eyes glancing down the beach. It would be so easy to high tail it and run to the Cove, to pray that Solomon would take pity on her and not send her back. Or she could just plunge herself into the ocean and fight against the current until it sweeps her away. But it feels like a pipe dream, and she quickly discards the idea. Better not to hope at all, than to let herself become misguided.

Her thoughts turn to Kvasir, her precious boy. She longs desperately to see him again, to look into his face and know happiness. He's on her mind often, if not constantly. How is he? What is he doing? Is he safe and happy? Drogon had promised to take care of him and if he can succeed where Svenja failed, it will be in instilling strength and a sense of perseverance into him, things he hadn't gotten from her.

A sharp kick in her belly pulls her thoughts in another direction. More and more lately she feels a familiar stir inside her womb, the telltale sign of a blossoming life. Svenja feels a strange mix of dread and hopefulness at the sensation. This isn't a child she wants to be carrying, but already she feels the same sense of maternal affection, of protectiveness, that she had felt with Kvasir. It isn't their fault that these are the circumstances into which they were conceived, and Svenja refuses to take her anger out on an innocent child. On her child.

She wants to be angry with the black stallion she calls king now, but pathetically she can't even manage that. Honestly she's not sure who to be angry with. Herself maybe, for not doing more when she could have. Would it have even changed anything, or would she still be standing on this beach feeling alone and miserable? Feeling ever wary of the shadow that skulks at the edges of her life now.

She still doesn't know his name, or where he came from, or really anything else about him. She just knows he won't let her leave, and that seems like enough. The past months she's done her best to avoid him - and everyone else, really. Since Kvasir left her days have been spent in solitude. Most days she lingers just inside the forest, content as she can be to watch from afar as the Bay's new herd live their lives. It makes her ache for better days, when Valka was queen and the Bay felt like a safe place, not a prison.

The sabino mare is so consumed by her thoughts that she doesn't even notice the figure coming up the beach until they're practically upon her, a blur of movement in the corner of her eye. Suddenly she's jolted back to reality, turning to lay dark eyes on the interloper. It takes her a moment to realize she's standing directly in their path, embarrassment warming her face despite the cool air. "Oh, sorry. Let me..." she trails off, sheepishly sidestepping to give them room to pass in the narrow space.