you shouldn’t walk where the hemlock grows

Since her brief visit to the Inlet nearly a year ago, Faolain had neither seen nor heard of Björn. She had picked up news of Warsaw back in his home from her time on the Crossing, but as for news of the Icelandic stallion, there was no word. Had he disappeared again? Been beaten back by the Inlet’s former, aging king? She did not know, and had not pursued this information despite their last conversation. For this, she felt only mild regret. Their meeting had been important to her, and while she still would not call them close, Faolain felt safe in assuming they were no longer enemies. They had found common ground, and for that the jungle cat was grateful.

Faolain did not pretend to know what had happened in the Bera Konung’s mind that caused him to vacate the Ridge without his family. Recently, though, she thought she might have figured it out. As a brand new leader, Faolain had not understood the weight of her position the first time she had encountered Björn in the Ridge, nor even later in the Inlet. Her decisions had taken on a new sense of consideration, yes, but Faolain still saw things with what she had originally thought was clarity: black or white, right or wrong, benevolence or malevolence.

Now, she understood that nothing was truly that simple. Siobhan’s capture and Rougaru’s challenge had brought this fact to light, each in its own way, and she thought of Björn one morning when she finally gave up on trying to quiet the frustration of defeat. Nyimara had beaten Ailill, and she could do nothing to help him or Sio, though cold fury chilled her heart and mind at the spiteful silver mare. This fury, paired with the exquisite anxiety of Rougaru’s terms, drove her deep into the mountain jungle, and she wondered how ever she could have judged Björn for needing a break.

In the quiet, humid shadows of the verdant green, for the first time in her life, Faolain cursed her gender. In the same breath, she thanked whatever force had given her Rivaini, so that she could escape like this without risking her territory being stolen away. She appreciated her silver-haired companion for so many reasons, but her presence as a leader alongside Faolain - or away from her, as she was now - was a blessing the black ‘Teke was only just beginning to realize. Faolain did not yet have the words to express it, but she loved Rivaini. It was not in her nature to question her feelings (when she had them, anyway) and she did not bother closely examining the affection she held for the copper mare. She did not care if her love for Rivaini was platonic or otherwise, for she had never cared to distinguish between types of love. She knew only that Rivaini was her home, and that Faolain harbored an extreme desire to reciprocate that feeling of belonging.

It took her several days, in the end, to sort through her thoughts and get herself in order. Asking Rougaru for time before he took his reward turned out to be a wise move. She was rattled by thoughts of the future, but that particular issue was not even immediately important. Yes, she was terrified, but there was nothing she could do about it right now. She could only meditate, calming her fear and disgust so that she could properly act on Siobhan’s situation, which was more immediately important.

And it wasn’t like there was much she could do for the red mare, either. She had not spoken with Ailill in some time, or Roisin. It had been long enough since Nyimara’s challenge that she thought it might be time to seek them out, along with the rest of the herd, even those who were not directly affected by the Ridge’s current political conflicts. Whether to offer comfort, or whatever help she might be able to provide, Faolain was not yet sure, but she knew it was time to place her own personal issues aside and try to be a leader once again.

She made her way back toward the herd life of the Ridge. Shadows lingered in the hollows above her eyes, but her stride was lively enough. Her demeanor was characteristically impassive, but something had changed, barely noticeable beneath the surface. She seemed to hum with energy, to stir beneath the sleek black hide. Once, Faolain had been a lazy mountain cat, content to lounge in the shadows of her jungle home. Now, greedy jaws snapped at her borders, demanding to take from the lives she had vowed to protect, and she was coming to the conclusion that it may be time to get her hands dirty in order to keep that promise. Now, she moved with the anticipation of a territorial jaguar, ready to punish those who dared overstep.

She broke into the sunlight that bathed the valley she and Rivaini had raced through on their first day in the Ridge, and whistled for anyone close enough to hear.

mare | black | 14hh | akhal-teke