Falls

Humiliated, enraged, and hurt, the broken giant had hastened to the seas with his ice queen beside him, abandoning the familiar snows of his former home for the frigid, turbulent ocean. He swam in silence, for no words could convey the enormity of his emasculation. Over and over, as his legs churned rhythmically beneath him, he replayed the sensation of Soljor’s hooves meeting his chest and the ground rushing up to meet him. The snows had softened the worst of the fall, but until the day he died he would not forget what it was like to have the breath ripped out of his ribcage in such a manner. The worst of it had been the seconds after, in which he struggled to take a single breath; in those moments he had been glad at least, in a twisted way, for the fact he was blind. Had he been able to look up into Soljor’s eyes and see the smugness in his face as he looked down at him, Het Vuur might have asked the beast to end it all right there and then.

Once he had caught his breath and painstakingly lifted himself from the ground, Het Vuur had sneered, “Congratulations, you’ve beaten an old man at his game.” But even getting the last word in had not been enough to placate his animosity and loathing. The fact was that he was a failure. He was no longer the Great Het Vuur, High King of Tinuvel, undefeated in battle, irresistable to women and with a hundred sons and daughters. In truth, he had not been that for some time – if ever. But in returning to Tinuvel, he had hoped at least that he and Sterre could have found some small happiness together. They so deserved it, after all they had been through.

But it seemed they no longer had a place in the world. The islands were for young, able-bodied horses that could fight for what they wanted – not for two aging Friesians (one of whom could not see a foot in front of his face) who had nothing to offer, and no attachments but for each other.

As they swam the last length to the crossing, Het Vuur reflected that if the sea happened to swallow them before they reached land, they’d be all the better for it.

By the time they stumbled onto the desolate beach of the falls, however, the stallion’s temper had burned away like kindling, leaving in its wake a cold gloom that, along with the freezing temperatures, chilled him to the bone. “The trees,” he muttered to Sterre, indicating that she should lead them to privacy, and then began strolling slowly inland. Though he would not feel the brunt of his confrontation with Soljor until the next day, his body already felt heavy and uncoordinated, and he pressed close to the wet mare beside him as they walked. He said nothing else, however, keeping his head down and his milky amber eyes staring blankly into space.

There is nothing left for us.