Falls

Summer on the Crossing was bold and bright and beautiful. The sun’s brilliant rays coaxed a scattered rainbow of flowers from the endless sea of grass, and the leaves were dark green and full. Life suffused the air in birdsong and the buzzing of insects; in the soft sighs of the distant sea and the louder hum of the nearby falls. And everywhere, it was not only warm but hot— a heat that somehow prevailed even after darkness fell. A heat that all but erased memories of snow and bare earth.

Nothing had ever made Kvothe miss her home on the cold island of Tinuvel more.

Aslan thrived in the provisional home that the chestnut mare had carved out between the Peak’s stone base and the Falls’ secluded glade, but his mother— his mother did not. Though she smiled occasionally at the antics of her young son, there was an undercurrent of sorrow that no amount of his endearing bravery could hope to break. Fear also remained a familiar companion to the slender Friesian, particularly in the absence of her patchwork guardian. But no matter how desperately she might long for his reassuring presence, Kvothe did not seek Tyr out— nor did she invoke his vow to come if she should call for him. Though her King had yet to find her, the red woman didn’t want to risk leading him to the bachelor stallion. Not after what she’d heard his Queen say. Not after what she’d witnessed him do.

Solitude made for more welcome company than the terror that consumed Kvothe each time she encountered a stranger— but at the same time, the weight of her loneliness only seemed to increase with each day that passed. Her golden colt was bright laughter to chase during the day and a warm body to curl around at night, but the comforts that he offered were fleeting. Aslan could not absolve his mother of her guilt, nor could he offer her the wisdom that might lead her forward. He could only love Kvothe— and provide a subject for her love in turn. In other words, the gentle mare could have never survived her self-imposed exile without her son… but then, without him, she would have felt free to return to the Inlet without fear. Because despite all her longing and grief, Kvothe cared more for the safety of her child than the wholeness of her heart.

And yet…

Treading softly through the forest and peering out from the veil of brush, the chestnut Friesian felt the familiar hitch of her breath when she saw the scattering of strangers who frequented the Falls. Were it not for overwhelming thirst, she might have crept away to some far distant place. Instead, she was forced to swallow the bitter gorge of her fear and step forward until she reached the pool and lowered her head to drink. Behind her, Aslan remained tucked safely in a small thicket, his dark eyes following her silhouette solemnly. She hated to leave him there, curled up in a tight ball that was far too small; far too vulnerable. But if this second trial of motherhood had transformed Kvothe in any way, it was to make her warier of the world. To guard her trust and hold her heart closed.

Even Ironclad— her King, her world, her heart— could not be counted on to spare the precious life that she sought so desperately to protect.