Rohanne did not know what to do. Instinct told her to turn and leave, but where would she go? She had no home, no family, no friends, and the idea of seeking out a new herd full of strangers filled her with dread. But she knew she could not stay here. A single horse might manage to subsist on their own in the tundra during the summer, but it would lonely, and if she was not targeted by predators she would run the risk of freezing to death in winter.
Her mousy fur was still damp from her swim, and it was making her tremble with cold in the breeze, so she turned to leave. A stroll would warm her up at the very least, if not help her decide what to do next.
Then, almost lost on the wind, came a voice from behind her. The grullo mare froze and twisted her ears back. Had she imagined it? Was her mind so desperate for company that it was conjuring the last living horse she cared for? She almost continued on, but something compelled her to turn around.
The vision of Nephilim gazing at her from across the clearing made her gut twist. She peered at him with wide brown eyes, her expression slack and her lips parted. For several long moments she did not say anything. Then, hesitantly, she approached him. Her steps were careful, as though if she tread too hard the image of the stallion might shatter into a million pieces right before her eyes. Rohanne eventually stopped a few feet in front of him, close enough to see the individual hairs on his face, and let out a breathy exhale. There was a heavy cloud of history and unsaid things hanging between them; she could feel it thick in the air like fog. His presence was almost overwhelming, after all that had happened.
"I thought you were gone." Her voice was low and soft, her face creased and tense with strong emotion. "Are you the only one left?"
ROHANNE
4; grullo; draft mutt; 16.0hh |