After the biting chill of wind and snow, the stranger’s warmth feels like a blazing flame against her side. Falda leaned into the heat, a soft sound of contentment rumbling in her chest. She was grateful for the sensation, and not only because it softened the ice that had settled into her bones. The warmth was something to ground the small mare, something to orient her in this desolate white void. It was like… like a boulder in the midst of a storm-tossed sea. And curling into it — curling into the press of his touch with the easy surrender of any creature who’d survived a near-drowning — she drifted off to sleep, the rapid thunder of her heart easing into a deep, steady thrum.
By the time awareness returns to Falda, the wind’s screams have fallen silent. No, the whole world is silent and still, as if the creatures who call it home are afraid that any sound or movement might provoke the storm’s wrath anew. Stiff and sleep-befuddled, the dark bay remains still too, chasing the frayed threads of her memories back to their source. Trying to make sense of the unfamiliar warmth and scent that’s pressed into her left side, she recalled the thick whorls of snow, the terrifying blindness, and — oh.
Suddenly the world had begun to stir. Cold air rushed to fill the void where heat had been only moments before, and a fresh sifting of snow joined the small mount that already rested on her back. But of all things, it was the laughter that jarred Falda the most. That such a sound — a sound of warmth and joy — should arrive so quickly on the heels of the hardship they’d just survived. Yet it was a sound that invited her to respond in kind, and the deep-brown woman did so without thinking, shaking her stout body so vigorously that its coating of snow was flung in every direction — including back at the red stallion.
Then, as one, their gazes met. The moment of shared laughter passed, deepening into the amiable understanding of two strangers who’d weathered a storm together.
Strange way to meet someone new, the male’s soft voice remarked, evoking a flush of chagrin from his smaller companion. There was nothing strange to her about sharing warmth to survive, but— but what? Falda’s ears twitched back briefly, uncertain. She’d spent cold nights beyond count beside the bodies of her mother’s people, but this stranger — with his taller, more slender body — made her feel more aware of her own. Of the differences in length of limb and broadness of chest, Of the tangle of dark fur that rivaled the length of some horses’ manes. She’d never contemplated the visual appeal of her form before, but following the elegant curves of the red dun’s body, Bacardi’s daughter felt like an ugly duckling beside a swan.
My name is Arroyo. “I’m Falda,” the shaggy mare offered reflexively, the syllables strangely accented — more guttural — from the time she’d spent among her mother’s people. Her gaze followed his, gold eyes studying the indistinct forms of trees beneath their blankets of snow until his question coaxed her from her thoughts. “Not quite. I was making my way to Tinuvel,” she answered. Then, with a bark of laughter. “But not quickly enough, it seems. So Tinuvel came here to find me.”
Her bearded chin gestured towards the abundance of snow that surrounded them, and another laugh — softer this time — misted out past her lips.