Meadow

Kore feels restored, in a way, from her time spent in the Thicket. Playing with Cuivre - and Ember, nearly as much; wandering the forest; feeling the cool snap of winter melt into early spring and life explode over the landscape like it never really could in the harsh sands of the Dunes; all of this and more she drank like the purest, cleanest water, soaking up the love and vigor and attention she hadn’t felt in months, maybe even years. Luthien was different from her childhood home, incredibly verdant, damp and sometimes humid, slow-moving and temperate. Life here took root in its own time, nourished by rich soil and frequent rain. The flowers were like those on the Crossing: they took weeks to push up out of the ground, slowly unfurling new leaves and tender petals. Unlike the blooms of the desert, these didn’t have to rush; they knew, more or less, they could relax, assured that come nightfall they would live to see the morrow.

Kore had missed that kind of life. Growing up surrounded by gentle souls, cradled and nurtured, she hadn’t had to face the realities of the harsh sands around her, even as she witnessed its effects on those less fortunate. On the Islands, she didn’t have that buffer. The violence of an existence upon the sands had smacked her right in the face, whipping the wind around her until she felt raw. Leaving Salem over the past months, though it had felt impossible at first, had led her to places that felt more like home than all her time spent in the Dunes. How, then, could she ever return?

Would she?

Kore’s slim body weaves through the trees dotting along the edges of the Meadow. This time, her steps are sure; she knows these woods better now, knows they are not some mind-bogglingly large oasis… and knows - or at least hopes, given her past encounters - that they hold the one she seeks. She had bid goodbye to her fire-red friend once more, reaffirming her commitment to come and visit, and over the last few days had been purposefully making her way south, seeking the rock where she and a tall, dark stallion had sheltered together and hoping he might still be there.

A voice cuts through the trees towards her. Kore freezes in place, black-tipped ears swiveling to pinpoint its source. The birds chatter, squirrels call and warn the hawks away, and the branches sway in the wind, muffling and distorting the noise; she strains to place it, and just as before, her voice, suddenly timid - yet strangely hopeful - calls out into the shadows.

“Aidoneus?”

Something shifts in the darkness before her. Kore strides purposefully towards it, smiling cautiously. She breaks from the trees and into a small clearing; what awaits her is not Aidon’s strong form, but a mare’s, small and rich, deep red and smelling strongly of blood and afterbirth. “Oh -” Kore sputters, clearly interrupting something but too far into the open to back away unnoticed. “Oh, hey.”

Her eyes glance towards the mare’s hindquarters, widening at the pools of red staining the tender Spring grass. She can see it there - a foal, newly born into the world, clean and conscious but laying prone like its dam. Kore tears her gaze away, locking onto the mare’s white-snipped face and flashing an apologetic grimace. She takes a step back, wishing she could sink into the earth at her hooves and disappear. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude - I -”

Something in the mare’s expression gives her pause. Shouldn’t she be up by now? Shouldn’t she have chased Kore off the second she dared invade the confines of her birthing place? Something about the tiredness in her expression, the far-away fogginess in her golden eyes… it gives her pause, brings that all-too-familiar worry creeping down the length of her spine. The Arabian lingers on the edges of the woods, half-here, half-gone, unsure if she can be of any service or if she’s invading the mare’s personal, private space.

Only one way to find out.

“Are you alright?”