Falls

Somewhere during the course of her fall, the ground and sky have traded places. Relaxing the rigid arch of her neck, Ariah’s head lands on a blanket of soft loam and colorful leaves. And her legs... somewhere above her, her legs claw and reach and find nothing but air. After a moment— when reason and calm have started to sweep the remnants of panic from her mind— the faded grey tips her body to one side, intending to roll over. Instead, she collides again (only more gently this time) with the boulder that has put an end to her downward journey. With the slope on her other side, the slender mare feels like a prisoner held in a cradle of earth and stone, trapped on her back with her limbs curled awkwardly above her.

Bruised and battered and afraid, but still whole.

Tilting her head in the direction of the hill, Ariah’s clouded gaze flits over the nebulous shapes of her surroundings. Seasons worth of debris— twigs, loose soil, and pebbles— have all tumbled down to rest in the hollow where her body now lies. Piling together to form a second wall, but one far more yielding than rock. If she twists her body with enough force, the pale woman believes that she can right herself. But as she is gathering her strength, the sound of a voice lifts the forest’s stifling silence. Hello? The heavy tread of a large body follows, and Ariah’s fear reasserts itself. Fear that her vulnerability and weakness will be witnessed, fear that she will be humiliated for these things. Fueled by a surge of adrenaline, she writhes and wriggles and fights until her legs are tangled beneath her again. Until the graceful arch of her neck can lift upright, and turn in the direction of the bright figure that approached.

The loss of her vision has robbed Ariah of so much of the world’s beauty, but she still strives to find it where she can. And for the span of a single breath she finds it in the elegant mural painted on the young stallion’s coat— the ivories and golds that meld seamlessly into one another. For that moment, she feels blessed despite the ache of her abused body. Blessed that she can still see well enough to remember the way the boy’s creamy forelock curls across his white face. Blessed to read the concern and empathy written in the furrows of his expression a heartbeat before they find her again in the soft music of his voice. Are you alright?

She isn’t, not truly, but the white mare has never found the selfishness in her heart to ask for anything. Not even enough to keep Oberyn at her side. Instead, she’d embraced the fissures in her heart as the price for the dark stallion’s happiness. Paid for the price of his peace with her own— just as she knows she will do with this stranger. Repressing a shiver as the pale pink muzzle drifts close, Ariah tucks her head to one side against the impulse to brush her lips over its gentle curves. It’s the closest she has come to touch in so long, but she cannot— will not— press for more. Because if she does, then where will she stop?

How could she stop, knowing how it feels to be held, to be loved?

But he is still watching her expectantly, poised as if to reach for her, to help her. And so she answers, her words hushed and hesitant in the sacred serenity of this place. “I— I’m fine, I think. I just fell, and then the rock... I’m not hurt, I—” The curves of her lips press abruptly together to stifle the unexpected sob that nearly escapes. Because she is hurt— far more in spirit than in body, but she’s still hurt. And no matter how deeply and determinedly she buries it, Ariah can still feel the ache that time alone has not healed. A grief that she is determined to bear alone, just as she has done with the gradual loss of her sight. As if— in holding these secrets close— she can lift their power over her and break free.

Just as she struggles to lift her own body now, determined to show her companion the truth of her words. And after a brief struggle to untangle her limbs, the grey woman succeeds, rising into a shaky stand, taking her first tentative step to weave around the painted male.

And then stumbling forwards into him instead when the brief tide of her strength ebbs.