Rivaini

Looking at the scarred Teke or her muscular companion, it was difficult to connect them with the mares who had found the Ridge those years ago, and raced laughing down its spine. The burdens of leadership and the hardships they’d faced had weathered them, ground away at them like gritty sand on coarse stone. To protect the soft vulnerable edges that remained, Rivaini and Faolain buried them beneath an impassive shell; hid the weaknesses of sentiment and uncertainty until they seemed cold and unreachable. And though certain members of their herd might reach deep enough to unearth warm smiles and genuine kindness, only when they were alone were the Guardians ever truly themselves. Only when she was beyond the reach of prying eyes did the silver bay surrender every cell of her being— and then, only to one creature.

Welcoming the familiar warmth of Faolain’s muzzle against her own, the russet woman gave everything that she was to that touch, leaning into it as desperately as if they’d been parted for years. Tasting the air that her shadow exhaled, and scents of seawater and sun-dried grass that clung to her skin before she pulled away. Nyimara had a child with Cullen. The warmth that she felt fled quickly, leaving ashes and anguish in its wake. Dread wrapped cold iron hands around Rivaini’s barrel and squeezed, pushing the breath from her lungs in a ragged sound. A sound that was half-moan, half-snarl, and then sunk into the heavy silence of despair. First Rougaru, then his little bitch-queen, and now this.

It was as if the world itself was determined to destroy them.

Time had sped up in the wake of this news, or perhaps it was only the rapid thrumming of her heart. But Faolain was not done yet, and the soft hum of her voice continued even though the red mare tucked her head to one side in an attempt to hide from it. No more, she couldn’t take any more. And then, abruptly, the rapid tick of seconds slowed. No, stopped. And Rivaini, still braced for the absolute worst, sunk to the ground without a sound. I killed him. I had to do something. Tipping her chin back so that the tangled skeins of her mane spilled back from her face, the silver bay met her companion’s gaze unflinchingly. But there was something unreadable in those sapphire pools— something that spilled from her in a bitter burst of laughter.

"You should be," Rivaini answered, the words shaky but sincere. Relief was spreading through her slowly, sweet as nectar, and she hummed in appreciation of it. "Faolain, I—" She was proud of her, but this didn’t seem the time or place to say it. The subtle cues of her shadow’s expression spoke of both uncertainty and regret; more than praise, Faolain needed to know that she wasn’t Nyimara. That the silver witch had left them with no choice, and this burden should be hers to bear. "Nyimara twists everything she touches with her hate." Like them. Swallowing hard at the recognition of that truth, the Andalusian choked back a sob before it could escape. "—what you did, you did for the better of us all," she finally continued, sotto.

Rivaini leaned forward then to press her face into the dark wall of her beloved’s chest, her next words barely a whisper.

"Even him. All you did was spare him a lifetime of suffering. Know that, and let your own pain go."

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