Meadow

each horizon is a new beginning,
rise & reign

“It gladdens my heart to hear you speak of the valiant deeds of your mother, and the courage of your father, to let go of something he must have held dear,” Eivor said with a heat to her voice that was accompanied by a sudden stabbing ache in her chest. She might have said more, if not for the fact she tensed her jaw imperceptibly, willing the throbbing to pass. Thankfully, Akello unknowingly provided her some relief, serving to distract her with his response.

“I fancy it makes me sound a little heartless when you say it like that,” Eivor said gruffly, but moments after the words left her lips, a throaty rumble of laughter followed, a giveaway that she had meant her words in jest. But then she sobered, and considered the question quietly for several long beats of her heart. “I would say…” she murmured, “that I would seek to find belonging amongst those whom I am free to be myself among - without having to worry about seeking consent from another before I could act upon what I knew to be right in my heart.” A pause, edging close towards hesitation. “And if following my heart resulted in me needing to seek forgiveness…”

The silver mare dipped her head in a rare display of sheepishness, so that the tangled knot of her forelock fell across her lightly scarred muzzle. “It may surprise you to learn that I am a stubborn soul,” she said, a weak attempt at humour, self-deprecating. “It’s not easy for anyone to admit they’re wrong, but I grudgingly admit it’s a particular fault of mine.” And she shrugged, as if to convey it was nothing of importance, even though it had left her feeling far more vulnerable than she would have liked to have been. “If I did something, and I couldn’t find the words to spell forgiveness, I’d hope it would go without saying.” Another pause, this one longer, purposefully drawn out.

“I’d hope to be understood, Akello,” she confessed, and slowly, slowly turned back to look at him, eyes still half-hidden beneath soot-silver strands. And she lapsed into a silence then, content just with his company, ears twitching at the sounds of his voice when he spoke again; it cheered her to feel as though she’d connected with him, that he accepted what she had said, and felt comfortable enough in her company to express himself freely. However, it was only when he shook his head with a strange quirk of his lips that she was stirred to speak again, desperate to quell any doubt.

Without warning, the fierce mare thrust her dusty brown muzzle towards him, half-tempted to place a nip upon the curve of his shoulder. But at the last second, she thought better of it, and snapped her teeth shut just millimeters above his skin, choosing instead to press her whiskery muzzle against the muscle of his shoulder - the softest part of her touching the firmest part of him. Hastily, she withdrew, and shook her head, guarded and avoiding his gaze.

“Your uncertainty only confirms your wisdom,” she mumbled, “for one cannot truly become all that they can be if there exists no humbleness within them.” Eivor’s glittering green gaze crept back to Akello’s face. “What you fight for is noble,” the mare grunted, softening again in stages.

What he spoke of - that which he longed for - it sounded to her like a dream. It was a beautiful notion, but not nearly so easy to attain. In Evior’s experience, peace was one of the most fragile things. There were only a few things so easily broken. (Trust. Bones of a newborn foal. The heart of a warrior.) But like all things, even fragmented, it endured. And whatever scraps of it there were to be found, Eivor would hungrily lay claim upon.

The apprehension that had risen in her slowly ebbed away at Akello’s query, and she felt a great sorrow bearing down upon her, one that took all her strength to keep at bay. “What is mine is who I am,” she offered quietly in reply, “and whatever precious little in life that is entrusted to me.”