Falls

Rivaini

Had she been in a less murky state of mind, Rivaini might have been more aware of the tension that charged the careful distance between the two stallions. As it was, she did find it a little odd that though one claimed sireship of the colt, the other stated that the boy shared his home. In the bay mare's homeland, it was not altogether uncommon for a young mare to be traded into one of the other nomadic tribes - a fate Rivaini herself had narrowly avoided. But young stallions tended to be universally unwelcome once they were nearing sexual maturity. Only those who had been chosen as heir by the elders were permitted to linger, and those typically lived a lonely existence on the periphery of the herd.

As her sire's heir, Iscariot had been even more poorly tolerated.

The stallion who had fathered them both had not agreed with the elders' choice, Rivaini knew. Weak and sickly from birth, the pale colt's survival had been nothing short of a miracle, and few were certain that he would make it to maturity. But once Iscariot had, there were no grounds for his exile, was nothing that the leader could dispute the decision. Her brother was safe - or so Rivaini had believed. This boy appeared hale and hearty, so she couldn't imagine what the circumstances were that had led to the situation the stallions described. And as memories of Iscariot tightened her chest like a vice, the pale-maned mare couldn't muster the energy to ask.

So Rivaini focused instead on the names provided, numb lips moving soundlessly to form the syllables. Björn. Sauron. Solomon. The Falls and the Cove. None of it sounded familiar, and for the time being that was best. The silver bay didn't know what she was going to do beyond making it through the night - dreams of the morrow were a luxury for those whose hearts were light, and continued existence assured. But she considered the offers extended by both the grey and gold kings as she stood on shaking limbs.

The reservoir of strength from which Rivaini had drawn was nearly depleted. Rest would have been welcome, but the voice of caution whispered into dark-tipped ears at Bjorn's proposal. Though a compassionate stranger, the Icelandic stallion was a stranger nevertheless, and instinct would not permit Rivaini to surrender her consciousness in his care. "I'm afraid I couldn't sleep, Bjorn. There is much I've seen today that would haunt me," Rivaini offered by way of apology, the silvery strands of her tail doing a brief, agitated dance through the air as she remembered.

To quell the sorrow that threatened to suffocate her, Rivaini turned her attention to the taller king.

Solomon's offer - while it would require her to share personal space with a stranger - was a temptation to the short-coated mare who shivered with cold, and one that she could see no reason to refuse. Bowing her auburn head in grateful reverence, she struggled to force legs that had gone rigid into motion. It was not unlike controlling the wooden limbs of a puppet, but eventually Rivaini managed to trip and stumble her way to his side, curling her smaller figure gratefully into him.

Rivaini was vaguely aware of the boy's excited prattle but could not have discerned what was being spoken had her life depended on it. Warmth, blissful warmth, had enfolded the russet side that pressed into Solomon, and overwhelmed the mare's senses. Chilled as she'd been, Rivaini hadn't truly felt the degree that the cold had affected her until its absence. "I am called Rivaini," the silver bay uttered softly once the chattering of her teeth had ceased, and her senses returned.

In gratitude not only to the champagne stallion but also to the others who had watched over her thus far - Bjorn and Sauron - she offered this trivial thing. It was all that she could give them in return for their compassion, the only thing that the blue-eyed mare now possessed: her name.

mare / five / silver bay tobiano / andalusian mix / 15.3hh