Meadow

The shifting wind rolled lazily across the meadow, carrying the dried leaves which had so eagerly begun to fall from the trees which bordered the vicinity. Their vibrant colors such a contrast to the dying grasses atop which the spotted stallion stood. His soft gaze flutters around the area not unlike the breeze as he drinks in the start of another day, a light fog clinging to the ground making a rather picturesque landscape as the distinctive Peak rose in the distance. A soft sigh falls from his lips, the warm breath coalescing in the cool air for just a moment as thoughts of his daughter fill his mind. That fiery girl was carving her own way in the world atop that towering mountain and though he was proud of the strong woman she was turning into he still missed her.

It is those thoughts of the life Cricket was living without him, along with the tell-tale change of the seasons that has him reminiscing back on the other notable mares he had run into since his return to the islands. The impossible to forget Rivaini who had been the first to remind him that he wasn’t done with life just yet. Ember who’s who had entranced him with her enigmatic ways, always leaving him with more questions than she had answered. And the silvery Sabriel, the strength and pain she had wielded simultaneously the night he had offered her shelter engrained within his soul. He cannot help but wonder where she might be now, he had done all that he could for her at the time and though it was not his place he worried for her.

What horrors had been inflicted upon her that night, and though it was not his fault he had felt the wounds as if it were. He had done such damage before, and perhaps it was the turning of the season once more but he felt the pain anew. Had she borne a child as she had feared? What would become of them? Had the stallion who had acted on the basest of instincts without care for her own wishes found her once more? Perhaps they would kindle some relationship from the darkness, for had he not also done that as well? The mere memory of Fleete bringing both comfort and the ache of a long faded scar which had him shaking his head once more.

Thoughts and regrets were all that were left to an old man so far past his prime, but he had promised his daughter that he would not simply fade into oblivion as he had originally intended. As the onyx tresses of his mane shifted slightly in the renewed breeze his emerald eyes narrow at the rising sun. All that was left was for him to discover just how to make what remained of his life matter.