Falls

Had Sleia known even a fraction of the troubles that weighed upon Kvothe's heart in that moment, I am uncertain she would have behaved any differently. But Sleia had never known love beyond the warm regard of her parents. She had never brought another life into the world out of love or obligation, had never had anything so thoroughly enmeshed in her thoughts that even oceans could not distance her from it. Her decision to leave the Path was decried as unforgivably selfish by her dam, and by nearly all accounts she had been correct.

Did that make it wrong? The copper mare aspired daily to prove the wisdom of her choice, to nurture good crops out of the so-called barren soil of her independence. The fact remained, though, that she didn't understand the world into which she had wholly immersed herself. Surely there was a solution to every ill that stole the smile from every stranger along the way. Surely it was simple enough to achieve, if only one worked hard enough.

Sleia was naïve to a fault. But maybe she could still make the sun shine a little brighter, if she tried.

Curiosity had drawn her to the lovely (and safe, as Björn had instructed her) territory of the Falls. Spring had come at last to the islands, so the mist drifting off the roaring waters didn't bite the skin quite so aggressively now, and the surrounding clearing was flourishing with greenery in full bloom. It was the picture of the islands she imagined she might want to bring back with her in stories, were she ever to find her way back onto the Great Path and amongst her people again, but such fancies were impossible. The world was much too large, and so many lives simply disappeared into its vast expanses without a trace.

Today, it seemed, someone wanted to disappear.

A red mare she didn't recognize hurtled into the pool and shied away from its verdant banks. Immediately Sleia scanned the path she had taken, expecting something scary and hairy to be just two shakes behind her, but nothing appeared and - with the exception of the endless churning of the falls themselves - no sound followed after. Aside from Kvothe's intrusion, the clearing seemed as still and peaceful as before.

Sleia wondered again about what Björn said about claiming, and whether some might seek refuge in places like these to avoid imprisonment and slavery.

As the waves dissipated back into the pool's softly-churning version of normalcy, she sidled near with a concerned flick of her ears, keeping high and dry at the water's edge in her own best effort to be as inoffensive as possible. "Excuse me," she imposed, head low. "Are you all right?"