Common

If she doubted that her solitude was by choice and not the fates’ design, those doubts were swept away by the same cold wind that combed through her silver hair. The light tread of hooves through snow announced her companion’s arrival, but Sabriel remained where she stood— facing the beautiful desolation of the snow-buried meadow that was a reflection of her own heart. Was there still life beneath the ashen blanket, she wondered, or had the weight of it suffocated every root that might one day bloom into peace, perhaps even happiness? There was no way to know without seeking the warmth of her own kind, and so the black mare had come where she was certain to find someone.

But as if the world had been waiting for her this whole time, it found her first.

Hello. Sabriel finally broke at the sound of this softly-spoken word, turning her head gently in the direction of its source. For a moment hope fluttered in her chest like the beat of a second heart, one that was not fractured and aching but whole, blissfully whole. But then she was studying the red male with his dark stripes and pale splotches, the warm wistfulness of her brief fantasy draining from her as reality— grim reality— reasserted itself. Her companion was no one she’d loved or longed for, but a stranger. Who else would have come for her? She’d turned her back on her heart, and Bondurant had left her. Solomon had left her. Nothing remained of the life she’d once held but the crumbling bones of memories, and she had fled from those as she’d once fled from the remains of her stillborn son.

Feeling bared by the bay stallion’s speculative glance, Sabriel ducked behind the creamy veil of her mane— but too late, too late. Whether he had glimpsed the secrets swirling in her eyes or only guessed at them, the stranger spoke again. If you’re running from anything in particular, I’d be happy to hide you away. It doesn’t get much more remote than the Badlands. Peering between the tangled ivory strands of her sanctuary with guileless blue eyes, the dark woman considered this offer in silence. While a part of her hungered for something new, the rest still clung desperately to the familiarity of what she knew— even if that familiarity meant solitude. These conflicting desires split her into two seemingly irreconcilable halves, tugging her back and forth in an endless dance until her companion spoke again. I’m Rafe.

“Sabriel,” she answered automatically, the syllables feeling strange when they fell from her lips. It had been a long time— too long— since she’d shared even this tiny fragment of herself with another. Because each time she uttered her name, she could not help but to hear it echoed in Solomon’s sultry whisper or in Bondurant’s deep, wistful murmur. Sabriel. Better to be a stranger with no name at all than to face the memory of how she’d destroyed them both— but there was no taking back what was already said. “And I’m not— I’m not running,” she continued haltingly, turning to face forward again. To look at the moonlight-bathed meadow as if it might contain the answer to all of her questions. “I mean, I was, but I’m done now.” Or rather, it was done, and she was finally beginning to accept that truth. Finally beginning to recognize that running away had gotten her nowhere at all.

But would if she could run towards something instead— would that be any better?

Could it?