The Lost Islands
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Falls

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moonlight, I dream of you endlessly
Posted on August 10, 2020 at 06:08:50 PM by ylva

ylva

I hate you!

The words are still a blow to her heart, still as crisp and clear and sharp as when they had been thrown in her face days ago. Ylva knows she has only herself to blame. Angered by her young son wandering alone into unfamiliar territory, she had delivered a swift, punishing bite to the crest of his neck and pulled too hard, tearing hair and bloody skin from her son, her sweet boy who had only been looking for a friend. She forgets herself sometimes, when she looks at him. His resemblance to his sire is so strong that sometimes she can only seethe traitor Liland in his face.

She had cried and fretted and apologised to him over and over, but it was not enough. Runar has avoided her ever since, keeping only close enough for her to see that he’s nearby, but turning his back if she so much as takes two steps in his direction. At night sometimes, when he is sleeping, she wanders over to press her body against his until his shivers have abated. In the mornings, she always wakes up alone.

Ylva has reluctantly accepted that what her son needs is space. He is approaching a year old now, and her constant hovering and fretting and isolating and lecturing has done nothing but harm their relationship. If she is to salvage that, she must learn to treat him as an individual instead of an object - a malleable version of Liland - to be controlled.

She is watching him now, as she grazes along the banks of the falls. He is off in the meadow beyond, doing some grazing of his own as a bank of fog swirls around his silver coat. Eventually a flash of gold draws Ylva’s eye away from him, however, and she turns her head to observe a heavy-set palomino mare, belly swaying with the suggestion of a growing foal within, approach the water a little ways down from where Ylva stands.

Initially, Ylva’s impulse is to be thankful that she had avoided the same fate as this mare last season. Then she wonders what the mare is doing here, pregnant and alone, not unlike Ylva had been when she’d fled the Bay. Then the wind shifts, and Ylva catches her scent, sharp and heady with the snowy evergreens of Tinuvel. Ylva would know that scent anywhere. Though she associates it with bad memories, it piques her curiosity in this mare. With Runar giving her the cold shoulder the past few days, Ylva has felt especially alone, and it’s been far too long since she’s enjoyed female conversation.

She lets her legs carry her in the mare’s direction without a second thought, dark eyes bright and neck long and low to show she means no harm. When she’s close enough, she lets out a low nicker of greeting and offers her nose to exchange breaths. “I hope I’m not bothering you, but are you from Tinuvel? You have that look.” Ylva offers the mare a smile. “My name’s Ylva. I used to live there too.”

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


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