Meadow

Their cries serve as little more than an interruption.

Her and the dark woman, twisting together in a beautiful warriors’ dance that was both enchanting and deadly. It made her heart thrum, and her blood boil, and she loved it. Yet they were observers, lingering at the edge and screaming at them as if they were their own children. “Good thing you’ll have a wee babe to spout your insecurities to soon.” Her voice is high and mocking, screeching out as she mocks them, imitates them with a sick little smile on her dark lips.

The dark woman lunges at one of the observers, and Yazheen is forgotten in the fray, staring long and hard at the pregnant mare before she turns to go. “I will find you later, sister.” She offers one little promise to the black mare before going.

And then she is gone.