Meadow

Çiçek might have been beautiful, but she wasn’t stupid. She knew that when Solomon mentioned his good fortune in finding such beautiful flowers in the Meadow that afternoon, he was referring to Faolain and herself. Her sire had thought the same of her when she was born, naming her after the word for “flower” in his native tongue in a nod to her mother, Azaleya, and her grandmother, an Inlet mare named Briar. While Çiçek appreciated the compliment - she appreciated most compliments, really - she liked to think of herself less as something tied to one spot through deep roots. She wanted to be free, like the white puffs of dandelion seeds, carried far by the winds to places not yet discovered. Still, she demurely lowered her eyes, long pale lashes fluttering over their sparkling depths. Her head drew close to her chest, allowing for the muscles of her neck to curve in a supple line down towards her withers and her platinum mane to fall over the shining gold of her coat. Her voice came soft, sweet, and just a bit modest. “You flatter us, Solomon.”

Çiçek listened attentively as the grullo extolled the virtues of his frozen home. She’d experienced winter on the mainland, but only briefly, her parents preferring to settle in warmer climates. The mare was making a mental note to venture to Tinuvel once the seasons changed and witness winter in the true north for herself when she felt Faolain’s gaze upon her, and she rose her head from its resting place upon her breast to meet her eyes, the smile never having left her face. “Thank you,” she replied, basking in the subtle warmth of her praise. “My dam was born here, but moved to the mainland years ago after meeting my father, who came here as I have. Their stories are what bring me.” She longed to see exactly where those stories took place, to feel the history in the earth… and to make stories herself, to someday regale her own children with. “My mother’s family was actually from Tinuvel, but she ended up spending much of her time on Atlantis.”

As the conversation turned towards the Ridge, a spark of recognition flickered in Çiçek’s mind. Was the Ridge on Atlantis? Azaleya had had no end of stories about the Harbor, its lush vegetation and abundance of life. It had seemed like the polar opposite of the Inlet. Much like her present company, she realized, as her gaze flicked between Solomon - tall, flashy, and brazen in his flirtations - and small, reserved, dark Faolain. Again she was reminded of the universe’s uncanny way of circling back in on itself, and as the mare waited with attentively-pricked ears for Faolain’s response, she wondered how her story, and theirs, would reflect those that had come before them.