Meadow

Finally, for what feels like the first time since she arrived on the Islands at just two years old, Ylva is free of children. Her youngest son Runar is now two years old himself, and so he has extricated himself from her watchful gaze: something he's seemed eager to do ever since he was barely a weanling. He had not specified where he would go, but Ylva has suspicions that disturb her sleep at night. Overall, however, it's somewhat of a relief to see him gone. Their relationship had been standoffish at best and tumultuous and resentful at worst. Ylva feels like a bad mother for thinking in such a way, but she's come to accept that they both will likely be happier now that they are free of each other's company.

She will never admit it to herself, but deep down she's also grateful that she no longer has to look upon the very image of Liland himself.

In the weeks since Runar had departed, Ylva has kept to a quiet and peaceful existence on the Crossing with Errant. Following the revelation that his feelings for her extend beyond the platonic, Ylva had felt the need to place a little distance between them, too, which has proven far more difficult than it had been for her and Runar. Errant is her closest friend - her only friend - and his constant presence at her side the past year or so - as well as his patience, his kindness, and his unquestioning loyalty - has awakened something within her that she had thought was long dead. Sometimes, when twilight has draped deep shadows over the land and the stars dapple the sky overhead, Ylva looks at him and wants nothing more than to curl her small pale body against his tall, dark one, bask in his warmth, and breath in his comforting, earthy musk.

But she cannot - both for his sake, and hers.

After they had spoken of a journey to Tinuvel, things became a little easier. Finally their thoughts could ruminate on something other than the unspoken tension between them; finally they had something to look forward to (and, in Ylva's case, something to fear). They will travel to the tundra island at the turn of the season, when the subarctic nights are shortest and mildest.

And Ylva will finally step foot in the place she'd thought she'd said goodbye to for the last time before Runar was born.

For now, it's a matter of waiting. Ylva spends her days enjoying the fresh spring grass and blue skies, and watching as Errant wanders off on his "walks" that she knows involve him scouting the area for - and chasing off - any would-be threats. Ever since Errant had become a part of her life, Ylva has known little more than a life of leisure, and it shows in the soft, plump curves beneath her pale russet coat. She knows she is doing herself no favors by not preparing for the encroaching long swim to Tinuvel, but it's difficult to worry about anything when Errant looks after her so well.

It's a warm late spring day that Ylva finds herself alone again. She had spent the morning grazing and dozing on her side in the sunlight meadow, but in the heat of high noon she's forced to retreat into the shade of the trees. She leans against the rough bark of a tree, using it to thoroughly scratch an itch on her withers, and she's imagining the look on Solomon's face when she finally turns up, unannounced, in the Cove next season. After he'd spent so long trying to entice her to join him in his home, Ylva's certain his look of surprise will be a delight to see.

"...don't know where to go," comes a voice through the trees, distant and quiet. Ylva freezes and pricks her ears, but no more words come. It had been a mare's voice, weary and full of sorrow, and Ylva senses she's accidentally eavesdropped on a very intimate and private moment. Had there been another voice to reassure her that the stranger was not alone, Ylva would have quietly retreated through the trees to give them their privacy. But her nerves prickle with worry; what if it's someone in trouble? Ylva knows all too well how vulnerable it is to be a mare that's lost and alone.

She summons her courage and creeps through the trees quietly, so she can investigate without being seen. She does not have to go far before her eyes spy a red coat; as she'd suspected, it's a lone mare, either very young or very petite. Ylva watches her for a moment; the mare is still and quiet, and her expression is as pensive and forlorn as her voice had been. Ylva's heart aches with sympathy.

Finally, she steps through the trees. "Hello?" she says gently, her bearing loose and relaxed to show she is no threat. "I'm sorry, I couldn't help but overhear... Are you all right?" Her dark eyes are soft with concern.