Solomon had learned that time passed strangely when accompanied by grief. It did not ebb and flow like ocean waves but became inexplicably stuck for hours at a time, drawn to a moment like a mouse in a trap. He drew away in those quiet moments, too ashamed to seek the solace or comfort he might have found among his herd. Sometimes grief would keep him awake through the long hours of the night, his gaze trained restlessly on the ocean swells. Other times it stole only the quiet times, when his living children napped in the late summer sun.
The worst was when the grief compelled his feet into restless pacing, for his heart cried out for her in those moments. Demanded that he search across the isles until he found her again. Objectively, Solomon knew that his tie to the silvery mare was flimsy at best, and yet he knew that she would be the only one to could know the deep well of agony in which he dwelt. He wasn't sure anymore if it was her condemnation or absolution that he sought, but he yearned for her.
Desperately he wanted to know that she was okay. That his reckless disregard for her desires had not consigned her to the same fate as Uriah and snuffed out her light. He needed to know that the proud mare had survived, and that he was not guilty of not only rape and abandonment, but murder as well. Somewhere deep in his mind lurked a tiny flame of hope that they might still belong together. That the fire that had crackled between them on their first meeting had not been entirely of his own invention and that their future might share some form of togetherness other than grief. This hope was kept buried, locked down so deep that he acknowledged it only in his weakest moments when the empty silence at their son's grave left salty trails down his cheeks.
The restless night drives him to the crossing for the first time in many months and he goes, grateful for the ruse of the rut to excuse his absence from the herd. In truth, while his interest in his herd had not waned, his drive to procreate did not steer him as blindly as it had in years past. Like a trained dog, it came when called and performed all of the tricks it had learned, but it no longer lunged at squirrels or threatened to chase passing cars. He knew that his herd had noticed. Not only that he pulled away at night instead of cuddling close, but that he was not as insistent as before. He still went to each of them, still offered his affection and intimacy, should they take it, but he did not return as quickly to check that their minds had not changed.
The children, he would offer a an excuse, disguising the truth with a rueful laugh and an affectionate nuzzle of the closest child. The children just took it out of him.
It was a flimsy cover, but it did the trick... mostly. Soon he knew that they would ask and that he would have to find a way to tell them and suffer the consequences of his behavior. Ysabel and Illusion were far too clever to have missed the way he skipped away, and Collie and Nadja far too in tune with his emotions to not notice the change. He dreaded the day they found out, knowing that he couldn't possibly hope to keep their loyalty.
His thoughts wander freely until her scent stops him cold and like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming train, he freezes. The scent of her, and Uriah and of Cullen are seared into his memory, never to be forgotten. Each muscle in his body stiffens and his gaze days to the treeline to frantically search for her. In the dark, he cannot see her, but the strength of her scent, intensified by the season, leaves no doubt in his mind that she is close. A fainter scent, masculine ave unknown lies beneath, triggering some hidden reserve of testosterone that sends his ears careening back into his mane before reason interjects and softens his face.
Against the tree trunks standing as silent sentinels between them, she is all but invisible. The sliver of a crescent moon was hardly enough to backlight his own spotted figure, and yet he doubts that she is unaware that he is here.
"Sabriel?" He asks into the darkness. After a moment's pause and a subtle shuffle of his pale hooves he speaks again.
"I know I'm probably the last stallion you want to talk to." He falls quiet again, wanting to acknowledge the reason she had every right to want to stay as far from him as possible but finding himself incapable of leading with an apology to an empty room. Swallowing hard, he speaks up again, a note of resolve strengthening his tone.
"I promise it won't happen again."
Stallion | Dutch Harness Horse Mutt | Champagne Grullo Tobiano | 17 Hands | The Cove