Falls

If there was anything close to peace for one such as Sabriel, it was found only in dreams. Behind the sleep-leaded lids of her eyes was a world where the past could not only be relived, but remade. She could go back in time and open her heart to Solomon, letting their shared grief for Uriah grow into something more. Living out her days in the Cove with his siblings at her side, gathering flowers in the spring to place on his grave. She could go back and stay curled at Bondurant’s side — not only for that first night, but for every night that followed. Accepting the price of losing him within short seasons or years as a pittance to the worth of being loved by him for that long.

She could even run to Zevulun’s side instead of away from him, the Prairie’s long stalks tickling her stomach. His breath warming her skin when they collided, his voice as tender as a caress when he murmured her name.

Sabriel.

Her eyelids fluttered, and the dark woman’s breath caught in her chest. Where memory inevitably fell short, this dream had brought the stallion back to her in the fullness of his glory. Standing beside her, Zevulun was as radiant as the moon, his pale coat glowing softly against the shadows. His wintry eyes were gentle and warm; the antithesis of the season they resembled. Even his voice was exactly as she remembered: a soft rumble nowhere near as deep as Bondurant’s, but that made her heart ache with memories of the spotted bay. It’s so good to see you.

For a long moment, Sabriel could only stare, filling herself with the sight of him. But after that moment had passed, she surrendered gladly to the giddiness of her joy — this was, after all, only a dream. Here, she couldn’t hurt him… and if she hurt herself in yielding to this dream, it was more than worth the price of her pain. “Zevulun,” the silver black breathed, tasting his name for the first time since they’d met. “I’m glad to see you as well.” And she was. She ached to touch the stallion again, to feel the warmth of his skin against hers. But there were limitations to even the best imagination — and Sabriel, seeking to prolong the moment before she woke, made no attempt to push those boundaries yet.

“I never stopped thinking of you, you know.” Having decided to hold back for as long as she could, the blue-eyed mare chose another avenue to bare her heart to this dream. “Not when I returned to Rafe in the Badlands, or when I fled from you in the Prairie. Not even here on the Crossing, where the ghosts of those I’ve loved are everywhere.” Sabriel inhaled a shuddering breath before she continued, her gaze leaving Zevulun briefly to regard the Falls. But it wasn’t long before her eyes found his again, brimming with both regret and mute appeal. “I see you here as well. I remember sharing our pasts, exchanging our promises. I swore that I would find you if I needed you, but—” her voice trembled here, taking on a pleading note. “—I couldn’t keep that promise. I couldn’t risk hurting you, Zevulun, not like—” Not like she’d hurt Solomon. Not like she’d hurt Bondurant.

Better to break a promise than a heart.

“But maybe that’s why you’ve come to find me here. Or—” A spark of humor warmed her sapphire eyes, and Sabriel laughed softly. “This is my dream, so perhaps it was I who found you. Perhaps this can be enough to ease my guilt. To make me feel as if I’ve fulfilled that vow in spirit, if not in truth.” Shaking her head softly, the brindled woman let her smile fade and her gaze turn solemn. “No, I know better. This could never be enough… the same way that I could never be enough for you. But oh Zevulun, if only I was. If only I had come to you whole, before my life took all the wrong turns. I think you could have loved me then — just the same as I came to love you.”

It was time. No further purpose could be served in lingering here, dreaming dreams that could never happen. Sighing softly, Sabriel turned her head to brush her lips over Zevulun’s cheek — and then froze when they met warm, yielding flesh.