Rivaini

The rain was finished, or near enough to make no difference. Cradled within the heart of the RIdge’s jungle, the mare’s red ears tipped abruptly forward, capturing the last notes of its rhythmic lullaby even as it yielded to silence. Without the steady tap-tap on the canopy overhead, the world around her was too quiet and empty; a yawning void that would grow until it consumed her. Flinching back from this figurative edge, Rivaini cast her thoughts about, seeking anything to fill the emptiness. A heartbeat later, her sapphire eyes found one of the colorful blossoms that still clings to its vine— dying as many of its kin already had, but more slowly. A brittle brown husk with little of its beauty left in it, and less of its vigor. A thing more worthy of pity than worship or praise.

Trembling, the silver bay flicked her gaze to the next, and began to count.

Forty-seven. The flowers had been more plentiful than ever this spring, as if they were Çiçek’s parting gift to the two mares she’d loved. Inhaling a deep shuddering breath, the Guardian glanced upwards, willing the rain to return and lull her back into dormancy. But the fragments of sky she glimpsed between the fronds were as vibrantly blue as the sea, and offered no promise of peace. Instead, she listened to the rustle of the wind in the palms, the distant peals of childish laughter, the hum of bees paying homage to the last wilting blooms. She listened, and woke more with each second that ticked past— the memories of the past few weeks trickling back to her like the droplets of rain still finding their way to the earth.

Faolain’s withdrawal had perplexed her from the beginning, but it hadn’t hurt her— not then. The child that the dark mare had birthed was her first, after all, and Rivaini told herself that she just needed time to adapt to the concept of motherhood that no length of pregnancy could prepare her for. But as the days crept steadily by and her beloved shadow returned to her in body but not spirit, she began to wonder. Perhaps Faolain had come to regret their tryst with the bold young brother. Perhaps, like her companion, the slender woman had never intended to become a mother— but unlike Rivaini, could find no solace in the deep affection that they’d once shared. Perhaps she even blamed the silver bay for that moment of reckless abandon— for awakening the desire within her that had led to Vesper’s conception.

Confused and wracked with guilt, Rivaini could think of nothing but to accept her lover’s retreat. To watch from afar, and hope that Faolain would come back to her in time. But the hope within her lived a life as fleeting as the passion-flowers. Over weeks it had withered, its light fading to a dim flickering glow. Over weeks she’d drifted about like a moon without its earth, feeling purpose only in the moments that she cared for Selune and Osceola’s orphaned filly. But as autumn— and the rains— arrived on Atlantis, the children sought her out less. And she was left with little to do but wait, her heart—

Rivaini?

The past season felt as if it’d spanned an eternity, but it fell away in the span of a single breath. Turning about slowly, the copper creature felt the thrumming pulse of her heart, the bitter taste of fear on her tongue. Her gaze swept over Faolain— over her shadow, as whole and here as she’d ever been— and Rivaini wanted to speak, wanted to exchange the three words that had been their vow since she’d given herself to Rougaru. But the doubts that had haunted her wrapped cold hands around her throat, squeezing a broken sound from her instead— a sound that might have been her beloved’s name.

“Faolain?”

mare / seven / silver bay tobiano / andalusian mix / 15.3hh