Two years had passed.
Time is said to lessen the sting of a wound and Avangeline would agree. Though her heart often ached for memories of a stallion so black he might have disappeared into a starless sky, she didn’t quite feel as morose as she’d once felt over his loss. This wasn’t to say she did not miss him any less, nor would her glee be diminished should he resurface on the horizon. The difference between today and two years prior (when last she saw him) was she could move on with her day-to-day business without constantly looking toward any black horse she crossed paths with in hopes it was him.
Her midnight stranger.
Her friend.
Avangeline found most of her life was now filled with missing things. She missed him; she missed her forest-dwelling friend with the white face and kind eyes; she missed her home where horses had wings and gods walked among mortals. At times she pondered if she truly was mad. Yet no matter how greatly she wished away memories of her father with shimmering, iridescent flesh and great, black wings, she only felt she was dishonoring him in attempting to pretend he didn’t exist.
Because her life was morose, Avangeline remained quiet. With yearning eyes she watched strangers and wanted, more than anything, to reach out and talk to them; to befriend them. Was her heart capable of handling anyone else to miss if they, too, would leave her?
She wasn’t living; she was existing.
The morning was unspectacular as Avangeline grazed on short stalks of green and yellow grass, tangled black tail flicking idly across her haunches. She ate because her body told her to; she drank and slept when need be. She lingered on the outskirts of gathering areas to be close to others, but often shied away if any came too close. Even if she avoided conversation, Avangeline never lost one habit… she listened. She heard stories of triumph and of woe; she heard intriguing clues of the islands and their politics. She heard names but quickly forgot faces.
It was that morning she remembered something – a peculiar thing to remember – when a mare had noticed Avangeline near the river which fed off the Falls and asked her if she lived on Salem. When Avangeline asked why she’d assume she did, the mare said it looked as if she belonged there. It had all been matter-of-fact and Avangeline had pondered on it for a little while but then quickly forgot it. At that time she’d still been hopeful… she’d still waited to see if she might see him… he wouldn’t know to look for her on Salem.
But now, two years later… Avangeline paused grazing, lifting her long face and staring idly through trees as if she could see the shoreline which awaited her. What did she have to lose?
**********
Her first impression of Salem was the obvious: it was hot. The heat beat down on her flesh, the open rays of sun glittering across her body – the buckskin of her coat gleaming as if it were spun of precious metal rather than hair. Her nimble legs carried her curiously over swells of sand, picking her way curiously through as some soft, shifting parts threatened to swallow her leg clear to her knee. This was a peculiar topography she’d never seen.
There was something comforting in finding there were things she didn’t know existed, as if it made her childhood memories of home that much more plausible.
She squinted and lifted her head toward the sun. It was so bright here, so unobstructed by clouds or trees or mountains. Tsura… Avangeline thought of her goddess and smiled, feeling whole for the first time in a long time.
Eventually she sought out water and shade, for though she was born into the light she didn’t fancy suffering heatstroke and dying amidst waves of sand. It took time to find anything inhabitable but when she did – the little oasis was before her now – she was hit with the sharp scent of horses. A herd. Her gold-brown eyes glanced this way and that, waiting to see whose territory she had come upon, but Avangeline saw no one (she did not think to look to the shade where the bay was sleeping).
Though her pace was more cautious – moving now as a nimble deer might, head slung low and ears swiveling with any sound heard – she still advanced toward the water, her thirst growing with each step she took.
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