Falls

Relief flooded her, almost as sweet as Atlantis’s winter warmth. The spotted mare answered her greeting with one of her own, friendly, hopeful. She shifted within the small space, and Faolain flowed through the trees like wet ink to fill the gap that had been left for her. She stood facing the opposite way of the stranger, so that she could drape her neck over the pale woman’s back, and hopefully provide for her some extra warmth. Immediately, heat from the stranger’s body began to thaw Faolain’s aching muscles, and the iron stiffness she had held since the sea took her from Luthien began to gradually release its grip. “Thank you,” she said, and added with a dry chuckle, “I don’t think either of us were built for the cold.”

I was afraid I’d freeze, out here alone all night, the other mare said. Faolain’s head jerked in a slight, stiff nod. “It gets bitter here on the Crossing,” she agreed. A dry chuckle. “I forgot how bitter.” She had been spoiled by the tropical climate of Atlantis. Faolain was hardened in many ways, but the weather still stood a good chance of defeating her, even if no living thing had gotten close. Then again, even the most adept at surviving the extremes could be wiped out by any number of natural disasters, or even a change in the specific extreme in which they were best at surviving. Warrior or not, nature was unforgiving.

When the other mare asked if Faolain was injured, Faolain could only nod slightly. “I’ll be alright,” she said. “It’ll be better once I can make it home to Atlantis. It’s always warm there. You’re welcome to come, and wait out the winter there.” It was odd; Faolain had never been chatty, or even particularly interested in contributing the bare minimum to a conversation. She had always been stoic and private, and yet, she couldn’t seem to shut up standing here in the unforgiving winter night. Talking was keeping her throat warm and her eyes from falling shut, and it also kept her mind from wandering. It didn’t matter much what she said. “There are flowers there throughout the year, and birds migrate there during the cold seasons,” she rambled. It was getting difficult to stay awake. Faolain’s eyes, dry from the cold and heavy with exhaustion, fought to close despite her best efforts to keep them open.

Eventually, she caved, and allowed herself to doze — but not to fully sleep. Even in her most vulnerable state, Faolain knew that she was never safe unless she was tucked away in the deep shadows of the Ridge with Rivaini. She also did not want to leave the other mare unprotected, whom Faolain was sure at this point had saved her life by sharing her shelter and warmth. So Faolain dozed, lightly, her dark ears twitching at any sound, ready to wake up fully again and leap into action should anyone think to approach.