The world ended with a great tilting beneath their hooves and a shriek of metal drowning out all sound.
In the darkness, they were torn from one another and tossed into the raging sea. All Ghislaine could think about was reaching Lafayette’s side. If this was to be their end, then they would face it as they had faced all things; together.
But disoriented, blinded by the stinging spray of the ocean, Ghislaine could not find him. She cried his name, but to no avail. Screamed her fury, but the wind tore the sound from her mouth too and fed it to the swallowing sea. The waves roared, and the mare roared back, tossing her head, the sodden strands of her silver mane reminiscent of the white foam swirling upon her, rising up and crashing down. No matter how many times they pushed her below the surface, she broke free with ragged breaths, green eyes cold and determined. Ghislaine would know of Lafayette’s fate. Until she found him again, she would refuse to give in.
Death would not take her, not now, no matter how many souls around her surrendered themselves into those waiting arms.
------
She woke to the sound of sobbing, the intensity of it so raw that the sound of it clawed at her heart, rooted itself in her mind. It was Lafayette, draped over her, hungering for breath and yet even in his desolate state denying himself of it, as if he was hastening the inevitable, desperate to join her for the final journey.
“Morte, morte!” he keened to the wind still coming off the ocean. She could feel his chest heave, heard the rasp in his throat as he chanted his grief.
“Imbéciles, tous! Imbéciles sanglants.” If she’d had the strength, she might’ve chided him for his uncouthness, but the depth of his despair softened her.
Lafayette had always felt too much.
Ghislaine had always fought against feeling. All of life was a fight for her, every day. But she was tired. She was so tired.
“Hush,” she wheezed instead, her throat rough and aching. Lafayette seemed to go to pieces, weeping with a relief so fierce that is consumed him. Ghislaine hummed a familiar tune, hoping it would soothe him. It did, it always did. The bay roan mare became aware of the tide receding from where she lay, and she shifted slightly on the wet sand, the heat of Lafayette from where he curled around her more than enough to banish the chill from her bones. The storm that had ravaged the sea and dragged the great vessel they’d been on beneath the waves was abating, as was the grief that had ravaged the stallion.
“Close your eyes, Bien-aimé, sleep calls to us.” And she lay there, still and silent, listening for the change in his breathing. Only then did she pry open one green eye, angling her broad muzzle slowly so that she could set her sight upon Lafayette’s face. It the dark of night, the pale blaze that graced his muzzle shone like the moon. With the ghost of a smile twitching at one corner of her mouth, Ghislaine laid her head down.
It was no dream.
Lafayette was with her.
They were alive.
She could sleep.
------
Dawn broke, and the lightening of the sky caused Ghislaine to stir first.
“Lafayette,” she murmured, gently nudginh him into wakefulness. He startled, drew back, and at once his sapphire eyes roved the length of her body - no doubt checking for injury. Before Ghislaine even had a chance to reassure him that no, nothing felt broken, he pressed his face into the curve of her thick neck, trembling with emotion. It would not do, now was not the time. (For Ghislaine, it was never the time to fall to pieces, but here, upon a foreign shore, with the water coming back for them, as if it were craving for more souls to devour, it was imperative they move on.) She urged him, up, and heaved herself to her hooves alongside him, ambling along (feigning ignorance of her heavy limp) before he could shore himself up against her, offering a shoulder to lean on. Ghislaine needed to stand on her own.
Lafayette was unaware of the battles they would face. Ghislaine was not. For both their sakes, she couldn’t afford to show any sign of weakness, nor rely upon another – not even Lafayette who would be loyal to the very end, and beyond. It did not surprise her that he looked behind. She stopped, turned back for him, and called to him. When the black roan looked to her, his silver-white mane dancing in the breeze, she could see the intensity of the loss he felt
burning in the blue of his eyes.
Deep as the ocean itself they were.
Someday, Ghislaine feared she’d drown in them.
But not this day.
She rallied against the tidal wave of emotion she felt bearing down upon her, and snorted, with a jerk of her head indicated that Lafayette was to follow. She did not check to see if he heeded her, and instead, raised her gruff voice.
“Non, petit frère – there is nothing left for us here. Come, we go inland to search for fresh water.” And just as she’d known they would, her words, their tone and emphasis, had their desired effect. Grunting his displeasure (little brother, she’d called him;
little. She knew how he despised that word), Lafayette hastened to catch up, and fell into a familiar rhythm half a pace behind her. He muttered under his breath, focus drifting inward as it was wont to do.
But Ghislaine scoured the terrain with those hard emerald eyes of her, ever scrutinising, ever alert. Though she did not see any other creatures, she sensed another watching her. Said nothing, for she could not bear to give Lafayette hope that there may yet be other survivors. Wounded and tired as she was, Ghislaine would not hesitate to attack should she perceive any threat against herself or the stallion at her heel. The unease only deepened, and she stopped abruptly, hunching her shoulders, quick to stifle any questions that were sure to rise to Lafayette’s lips (What is it, Laine? Did you see something? Is it your hip? Do you need to --)
“Rest. Yes, I need to rest.” She didn’t really. Both of them knew that. But Lafayette accepted her reason for stopping without protest, his shoulder brushing at her uninjured hip. This was where she’d make her stand – and stand she did, tall and formidable, despite her battered condition.
A great bulwark and a shield, a sword swift to strike any who dared come against her.
Her emerald eyes gleamed as they roamed, and she waited.
Ghislaine would not be moved, until the shadow that haunted their steps made itself known to her.
