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Maybe she had been destined for the Thicket, once. But that was a lifetime ago, and she was a different mare entirely, covered in tangles of invasive roots and scaly lichen, unfit to give her lost love's home the care it deserved. "She ran, pinning her ears hard against her poll until all she heard was the pounding of her heart in her chest." Titania crashed into the sea, breaking free of the brambles attempting to claw her back, and told herself her tears were only because of the saltwater stinging her many tiny cuts.

But the minutes pass, and Faline does not appear. Her dam whistles once more, sweeping her surroundings - and nothing. Anxiety begins its familiar choking climb up her mottled throat. Don't panic, she tells herself, over and over and over like an incantation until the words have no meaning. Retrace your steps and try again. The winds are high. She is not lost. She is not lost. She is not lost.

Her view of the sky has been mostly obstructed by the bare-branched canopy for some time. Finally, the trees thin some; the moon has dropped low now, too, its luminescence barely reaching her inkjet skin. Something rustles in the underbrush ahead, drawing her up short, and her wide eyes gleam with desperate, foolish hope. She hasn't noticed another's presence for quite some time now. Maybe the bachelor isn't tailing her like she'd thought. Maybe... just this once…

"Faline?" Titania asks the open air, focusing so much on her daughter's safety that her own - hard-fought, hard-won, and hard-kept, despite it all - falls to the leaf-littered ground at her striped hooves, utterly forgotten.