"C'mon," a familiar voice and a touch to his shoulder beckoned Mikhail forward over unfamiliar terrain. He followed without word, thankful for the assistance his daughter has provided, but begrudging himself for even needing it. He'd survived a decade alone on spite and stubbornness, but age was catching up with him. The sight in his one good eye - which had never really been all that good to begin with - was fading rapidly. He was pretty sure he was going deaf as well, because sometimes it was like he was listening to Nadeždah speak from underwater, her voice muffled and far-away. But still she stuck with him, despite his growing list of faults and flaws and defects.
Mikhail had once asked his mother what she would name a daughter if she had one. 'Nadeždah,' she had said wistfully, and though he hadn't seen her gaze it had grown distant, like she was seeing far beyond the tangled trees of the Lagoon that surrounded them. 'I would call her Nadeždah. It means 'hope.' Something you need to live in a place like this.' She hadn't said much more after that, disappearing into the muck and mire with little more than the gentle splash of water to note her departure.
This filly had given him a sense of hope, a small ember of a thing that he had tried to tenderly nurse since the day she was dumped at his hooves by her own mother. She had survived whatever ordeal she'd been put through at the hooves of the mare who birthed her, and somehow came out without a hint of resentment in her. It gave him hope that the circumstances of one's birth didn't dictate their life's path, as he had believed since he was just a colt. She was off to a better start than he'd ever been - the animosity he felt for his father was etched so deeply into him he was sure there'd be marks of it carved into his bones after he died.
She was better than him in nearly every way, and he found himself thankful for her presence. Yet he also felt a sense of shame about his situation. He, a crippled old man, being led around like a child by his daughter who no doubt only took care of him out of pity. He wondered sometimes if it would be better to unburden her, to disappear back into the wilderness and leave her to live a fuller life.
It'd be a death sentence, but at least she would be free.
He shoved the thought away, tucking it into a dark part of his mind to mull over another time.
"Stay close," he murmured gruffly, breath fanning across the rippling muscle of her shoulder. He knew what happened to mares in the Crossing when they were spotted alone, has overheard such encounters one too many times. He feared what might happen to Nadeždah if she strayed too far only to catch a wandering eye. He'd be damned if he let his only known surviving child become part of some lustful stallion's harem.
"I will," she assured him, voice low. The pair skirted the edge of the main clearing, walking for several minutes before coming to stop beneath the twisted boughs of an ancient oak. Mikhail's milky eyes glance unseeing over the horizon, ears forming a dark halo around his head and his body stiff with anxiety. Nadeždah, meanwhile, settles into a far more relaxed stance next to him, enjoying the feeling of the warm afternoon breeze.
"What now?" She asked, turning to him.
In truth, he had no idea. It was dangerous to linger in the Crossing for too long, but he couldn't bring her back to the Lagoon. He'd done a good job of avoiding that since she was so unceremoniously handed over to him. The Peak would be the safest bet, but there was no guarantee they'd let him stay. And making the swim to another island was risky - not for her, but for him. If the currents separated them, he would have no way of knowing where to go, left for the sea to swallow. Guilt reared its head again and Mikhail shifted away, hating himself for being the reason she was stuck here in a state of never-ending limbo.
When he gave no reply, Nadeždah sighed. "Let's rest here for a little bit, then go to the Falls." She said decisively. Mikhail simply nodded and bent his head to lip at the sweet summer grass, trying to distract himself from the crawling sense of unease that had settled into his gut.
|