Meadow

Always, she dreamed of fire. When she woke, Seze would often find herself sinking into a sort of fretful frustration, seeking meaning and explanation where none was ever found, while at the same time struggling to fight back the fear she always felt tickling at the base of her throat, ready to crawl up and choke her if she ever gave it an inch. The young mare, little more than a child in some respects; naive to the world even though she tried her best to hide it, shied away from thoughts that led her home.

Her mother, she thought, would snarl at the notion of dreams meaning anything, because Banshee was afraid of anything she thought might be used to control her. Her brothers would try and distract her, because they never liked to see her downhearted. She’d avoid telling her sisters altogether, because certainly none of them dreamed of smoke and ash, and it would only deepen a void that the young mare had been running from for as long as she could remember. As for her father, Seze liked to believe he would just listen, and allow her the time and space to work things out at her own pace.

And perhaps that was what scared Seze the most.

If she cracked herself open, and let her anguished soul come pouring out, surely she’d fall to pieces. And when she put herself back together, surely she would be changed, and it terrified her to think that Solomon would look upon her with a new expression in his eyes, whose name was Disappointment. Or worse, yet, would he look at her in confusion, no longer recognising who she was?

See, that’s why she’d had to leave. One of the reasons, anyway. Because one day, drinking water from one of the Cove’s fresh streams - one of the smaller ones that would freeze over come the start of winter, and not thaw out until spring - Seze had not recognised herself for the anger contorting her features. And it rocked her to the core, and sent her fleeing from her home, not out of fear for herself so much as fear for one far more innocent than she. Seze felt tainted, and would not spend another day bearing the brunt of her mother’s bitter struggles, nor enduring the frequent absences which left her with frost in the marrow of her bones.

Some time had past, and she had lingered in the shadow of a mountain. But she fled from there too, seeking to cut herself free from a responsibility she wasn’t ready for. And yet, for all her reckless foolishness and dubious maturity, Seze was not so naive so as to wander into the flat expanses of the Commons, where hungry eyes could track her from afar, and strangers could run her down before she got to the safety of the trees bordering the Meadow, or vanish into the more heavily forested area surrounding the Falls.

There was a restlessness to her as she picked her way along the fringes of the golden grasses of the Meadow, her peridot eyes darting about in the manner of a hummingbird. It was clear that she was nervous, and exhausted as she was from the fitful snatches of sleep she’d managed to steal when the world chose to be silent and still, she had not the sense nor the strength to hide this fact. All that she could think about was to keep moving. It was as if she were searching for something, but trying to discern what, exactly, that was, had brought her close to tears earlier in the day.

(Her mother would scoff: everything you need, you already have. Her father would advise: don’t stifle your heart in fear, and don’t be afraid to ask for help. You are not alone.)

Someday soon, when she realised what it was she was seeking, Seze would laugh darkly to herself and shake her head in bemusement. Running had been pointless from the start. But from a distance, many things were easier to bear. That was why the amber and white mare had come here. The reason why she lingered?

A fire with no fuel died quickly.

(Seze was tired of burning alone.)