Meadow

The final steps of Jaskier’s journey were not quite the moment of glory that he’d expected.

When the sea finally spat him out on the island’s stony shore—damp, dishevelled, and utterly alone—the young stallion’s first thoughts were to bitterly rue his complaints about how decidedly uneventful their journey had been. While Hyacinth rolled her eyes and Larkspur watched the waves climb the shore in pensive silence, he’d given voice to every minor grievance that had been rattling around in his thoughts. From the lack of excitement to the monotony of their surroundings, he’d vented himself well and truly, and his soul-brother had said...nothing. Not. One. Damn. Thing. Not, I’m sorry Jaskier for misleading you, or even a simple, You’re right. Nope, he’d just stood there with the same distant gaze as if the buckskin had ceased to exist at all. And Jaskier… Jaskier might have lost his temper a little.

Okay, maybe more than a little.

A creature as bright in personality as he was in appearance, he was too used to being noticed, and not at all experienced in the art of being ignored. Affronted, he’d made the wounds on his pride clear in his next words—and then launched himself at Hyacinth when the girl’s only reaction was to laugh. A brief but furious battle of siblings took place in the surf while Larkspur still stood in silent contemplation—bodies colliding and teeth striving to hold onto water-slickened skin. Finally—after a well-aimed kick and a rather unfortunately-timed wave—Jaskier’s legs were swept out from beneath him, and the powerful force of the retreating water managed to drag him along in its wake. And perhaps he could have warred against the sea and won, but with his ego still smarting and the sound of Hyacinth’s jeers chasing him? Not a chance. Between death and granting the insufferable perlino woman even a tiny victory, Jaskier was inclined to choose death.

Time and the exhausting swim had cooled the flare of the brindle male’s temper, however, and the heavy silence of solitude reminded him that even his sister’s company was preferable to none at all. Squinting his amber eyes as he peered through the thick veil of fog, Jaskier tried to determine which direction was likeliest to lead him back to them. He had no intention whatsoever of getting back into the water, but they had to have tried to follow him, right? Hyacinth might have cheerfully left him to drown, but Larkspur wouldn’t abandon him. Unless he got lost, of course. Or drowned, or was eaten by wolves, or—or— Gods, it had never occurred to Jaskier just how dangerous the world was, and suddenly he wasn’t at all comfortable standing there alone in it like some gaping fool.

The mist was so thick that he half expected it to press back against his first step like a solid barrier. But it parted easily enough for his slender body and thinned gradually the further inland he ventured. After a time, the white-striped stallion arrived in a meadow that was populated by his own kind. The only problem was that neither Larkspur nor Hyacinth seemed to be anywhere. Moving like a ghost through the drifting skeins of fog, Jaskier circled endlessly, his golden eyes probing every figure that loomed into view. And for once, he took little notice of the individuals who sent a warm spark of attraction across his skin. For once, his thoughts extended beyond his own self-centered little sphere.

For once, he was well and truly afraid—not for himself, but for the safety of the two creatures he was so inexplicably fond of.