The Lost Islands
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Falls

Force-claiming is not allowed here. This is a peaceful, neutral area meant for socialising.

daylight, i dream of you softly (any)
Posted on May 17, 2020 at 10:52:26 PM by y l v a

ylva

The heat of late spring on the crossing would be unbearable in normal circumstances. It's like hot lava in her veins and biting red ants crawling across her skin, making her want to rub her Tinuvel coat against the rough bark of a tree until she's naked and raw. The child heavy in her belly is positively blazing with heat, too, as though Ylva carries the embers of a log fire within her, and not the offspring of a stallion who had betrayed her and everyone she knew.

Yet these sensations are dull and faraway, mere trivialities, as if they are the cares of a different Ylva. Her mental and emotional anguish occupy every last figment of her consciousness, turning the days into a blur and the nights into a torturous mix of sleeplessness and fitful dreams.

She doesn’t know how she hadn't picked up on the signs sooner. The feuds, the fights, the arguments, accusations, and falling-outs... even the little things, like Pidgeon stumbling over her words when she explained how Liland had brought her to the Bay. Ylva's own son had even abandoned her, and for what? Why had Ylva repeatedly defended Liland?

The injustice of what Liland had put her - and everyone else - through is the worst pain she has felt since she first washed up on the islands years ago. At first she had simply been angry, but now she spends her days in a dissociative state, obsessively trying and failing to process everything that had happened. Her appetite is all but gone, too: she cannot bring herself to so much as look at a blade of grass until a kick from her unborn child reminds her that she has more than herself to care for.

If there is one thing she's learned in her time on the islands, it's that stallions will hurt you time and time again, sometimes with a smile on their face and love in their eyes.

It's a clear, sunny day when thirst pulls Ylva in the direction of the thundering falls. Dizziness from dehydration has put a little extra sway into her waddle, but she reaches the banks of the water without issue, and takes a moment to tilt her chin upward, close her eyes, and enjoy the cool mist on her face.

When she finally lowers her head to take a drink, an acrid scent hits her nostrils, freezing her in place as her lips hover above the surface of the water. With a snort, she jerks back and examines the gently-rippling pool, but there is nothing unusual floating in sight, and no odd tint to the water.

She is so thirsty.

When the water hits her tongue, she knows instantly that she cannot drink it: there is a metallic tang that hadn't been there yesterday. She will have to find another source of fresh water elsewhere.

With a few dejected droplets trickling off her chin, Ylva gives the pool one last, regretful look and turns to leave, just as a powerful wave of dizziness grips her. She stumbles, but catches herself in time, her trembling knees holding her just above the soft blanket of spring grass.

Weariness and grief and the feeling that everything is so, so wrong hit her like a freight train. With a sob rising in her throat, Ylva relents, allowing her heavy body to sink awkwardly to the ground, with the finality of someone who isn't sure when they will be able to get up again.

At least the grass is nice and cool.

5; norwegian fjord; red dun pangare; 14hh
html, image, & character by shiva


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