Meadow

Snow stalks away with a black cloud hanging over him, like a sulking child that's been reprimanded. I watch him for a moment, bristling internally, then follow suit. He leads us to a shady area at the edge of the meadow, where the summer sun has not yet scorched the grass too badly. The relief from the heat is immediate in the shade, but my coat still prickles with salt, so I arc around Snow to rub up against the rough bark of an elm, but by that time he's dropped to roll and I have to shy to the side to avoid his carelessly-flailing limbs. "Watch it," I growl, but my frustration melts away as I finally enjoy a good long scratch against the tree, my bottom lip drooping in ecstasy. As such, it takes me a few moments to register Snow's idiotic remark.

I turn to look at him, hoping the weariness and lack of amusement is evident on my face from where he reclines on the ground. "If I have to suffer one more month of nobody for you for company I think I might throw myself back into the ocean," I retort, but my tone is softer, more playful. I remember what you said, once: You're too hard on him; he thinks you don't care. You need to show him, Yor - a little more often, at least.

You were always too soft on him, I think in answer, as though you can hear me. Even still, as I look at my brother and my eyes land on that stark white star on his brow again, I get that twisting sensation in my chest that happens every time I consider how you might handle a situation. With a long exhale, I look out across the meadow, my gaze drifting between the milling groups of strangers, then lower my head and snatch a few mouthfuls of still-green grass. A warm breeze floats by, lifting the half-dry tendrils of my russet mane and tickling the ends against my face.

"I don't think we should be alone anymore," I finally say, my tone more solemn. "I say once the heat breaks, we make for one of the islands - see if a herd will take us in." My tawny eyes find my brother again, and I watch him carefully for a reaction. "Anywhere but Tinuvel, in my opinion."

I'm weary of being haunted by memories; the ghosts of our childhood home are no exception.