The red mare had lived in fear for her life for only a few weeks, and yet it was enough. She couldn't look at any mare nor stallion without fear clenching her throat so tightly shut that she could not breathe let alone speak. Every man was surely a wolf in sheep's clothing, simply biding his time until he, too, could abuse her. Fundamentally she understood that not all men were like this. She had the shining soul of Ailill, and even Bjorn to some extent, to hold up as examples to the contrary, but it was not enough. Not even the fact that the vast majority of men that she knew were kind souls that would sooner help rather than hurt did not quell the panic that flared in her chest at the sight of every stallion that crossed her path since she'd landed on the crossing.
Most days, if it wasn't fear that kept her stationary, it was a tar-pit of guilt that mired her in place. She had abandoned her babies, let another man abuse her, and still continued to stay away. The wounds she had sustained at the teeth and hooves of Nyimara and Aranck had healed enough for travel, and yet she did not return home. She was no longer felt worthy of their love or affection and the mere thought of facing them in her new, lowered state was repulsive. Better that they did not know their mother to be this version of herself.
This version, who knew just what her breaking point sounded like, and how her screams of pain were shaped. Who could not decide if she loathed or loved the child that was just beginning to show.
Siobhan had taken to counting again. What had once been a way to escape the horrors of her captivity had quickly become a way for her to avoid facing the pain that raged in her heart. If she simply didn't acknowledge her grief, the razor-sharp edges of it could only scrape against her heart rather than pierce it.
She sheltered beneath a large old tree, its gnarled branches twisting overhead in wild patterns. The rhythmic rustle of the leaves overhead provided a wonderful cacophony to help drown out the thoughts that jostled for position in her mind. From here, with her gaze cast skyward to count the small clouds that raced overhead in the brisk breeze, Siobhan rested.