Falls

Seconds ticked past in the soft roar of water falling into the pool behind her, and in the chill that began to seep through her ember-red skin. Of course, Kvothe didn’t measure their passage by these trivial things; she counted them only in the unbroken integrity of her fragile world. So long as the truths that she knew held, nothing else mattered. Days, seasons, years— they were meaningless in the life she’d hollowed out for herself in Tyr’s world, and pointless in the terrible uncertainty that existed beyond it. Shivering more deeply as she contemplated the purpose that had called the grullo male to her, the slender chestnut backed another step into the pool. The water slapped against her belly now, as cold and implacable as the dread that twisted within. Would he find her here? Wait for her back in the Lagoon? Would it be safer to retreat up the mountainside, even knowing that was where her little lion-colt had—

Excuse me. The hammering of Kvothe’s heart broke with one last, desperate leap— and then went still. Rolling her white-rimmed eyes in the direction of that unfamiliar voice, the red woman froze in the act of curling her lip, her fear-harshened features softening with confusion. A mare? The rhythm of her heart resumed, a flutter now instead of a drumming. She was still wary and uncertain, but no longer afraid. Or at least, she wasn’t afraid of this particular creature, who would have no intention of collecting her as men were wont to do. After two years in the Lagoon, Kvothe had finally learned the lesson that Medusa had sought to instill in her long ago: a male stranger should never be trusted. Never.

In a cruel twist of irony, however, the one stallion she did trust was also the only one who’d ever betrayed that trust. And Kvothe, bless her pure and gentle heart, was still far too naive to recognize that truth.

Feeling the weight of both her companion’s gaze and her expectation, the Friesian sucked in a ragged breath, her own dark eyes flitting briefly over their surroundings. When this was finished, her eyes fell closed and she pushed the air from her lungs in a soundless sigh. ”I— yes,” Kvothe offered, her voice soft and quavering and rusty from infrequent use. She wasn’t truly okay in any sense of the word, but it was easier to agree than to explain her dramatic entrance. Or smaller details, like the shallow cuts that criss-crossed her body. Like the haunted look in her eyes, and the old scar on one cheek that she tucked her head to hide. If the chestnut mare had ever been okay, it was when Ironclad had claimed that mark as his own. Now— with Ironclad gone, and the happy life they’d shared crumbled to ash— it was only another reminder of everything the world had taken from her.

Such as her peace, as hollow a thing as it’d been.

Hearing the distant braying call of a stallion, Kvothe’s head jerked sharply in that direction, and she sidestepped towards the copper-red woman. For the span of a few heartbeats, everything about her bristled with a terse energy, with the certainty that here and now was where her world would end. But then the tension abruptly eased, and Kvothe’s gaze returned to the comfortable unfamiliarity of the other mare. Holding it— clinging to it— as a drowning creature might cling to a floating branch.