Meadow

She had lost the trail Iscariot had led her to, and at some point during her wandering it had begun to snow. It was not quite cold enough for snow, and the flakes were huge and wet and heavy, and turned into sleet very soon after they began to fall from the dark and rumbling sky. Faolain ignored the wet and cold, and eventually it stopped. The weather remained grey and heavy until Faolain picked up the scent again. As though they had been watching her, waiting for the right moment, the clouds finally broke and cold sunlight spilled onto the Crossing isle.

It had been almost a whole day since she had left Iscariot on the beach. Small worries crawled subtly from her stomach into her throat, but every time one made it into her mouth, bringing the bitter taste of what if, she swallowed it forcefully back down and carried on. It was terribly frustrating to have lost the scent, and she felt like she had been running in circles around the island trying to pick it up again. A few times she had been tempted to cross the borders of the Lagoon, and more than once she had had to dodge a greedy herd leader in the Commons before she learned to just avoid that place. She had nearly given up searching, thinking she'd return to Iscariot empty handed and unhelpful, when she picked up the scent again.

Energy that had been dwindling steadily for hours rushed into the raven-black mare and she took off through the trees, following the relatively fresh trail eagerly. Before the trees opened up into the Meadow, Faolain skidded to a halt.

She raised her head, lip curled. Rivaini’s scent was new here, hours, maybe minutes old. She could hear movement beyond the trees, but could not yet see. She held still and listened and breathed in the scents of the island. Could she be so lucky?

Faolain stepped into the Meadow.

FAOLAIN