Falls

By the time the last syllables of her white-speckled companion’s greeting faded into silence, Kvothe was certain of her small victory— for now. Yet the confidence that she would not be pursued here before the sun fell did little to ease the worries that swam in the muddied depths of the mare’s gaze. She still didn’t know where Tyr was, and whether the golden draft could hope to intervene before she was whisked away. She was still on the opposite end of the Crossing from her home and her son, tucked against a stranger’s side. And it wasn't that the slender chestnut didn’t appreciate the comfort and company the other woman offered, she just— she couldn’t— she didn't know how to interact with her own gender. The only female she’d ever felt at home with was Ironclad’s Queen, and Medusa was just as lost to her now as the grey stallion himself.

With a flush of shame and sorrow, Kvothe recognized that she’d never had anyone whom she could consider a friend. Someone whose connection to her was simple and without the heavy weight of expectation that had accompanied being Ironclad’s lover or Tyr’s… whatever she was to the General. And she needed that. She needed someone with whom she could be herself, if any fragments of the woman she’d been remained beneath the one she felt obligated to portray. She needed someone with whom she could be fragile, vulnerable— someone who would understand.

While Sleia considered whether or not to announce her ties to the Peak, the Friesian’s own thoughts turned back to the Lagoon. Kvothe wondered how long she should wait before returning to the Crossing’s southernmost territory, and whether that time would be measured in hours or days. She refused to consider the possibility that it might be seasons before she’d see her home again— or even never. Years later, her heart still ached when she thought of the Inlet and what she’d lost. Pike. Medusa. And Ironclad, her shining prince. Gone, all gone. Was it her fate to lose what she treasured most? Aslan, her lion-child. And now Frey and the boy’s father. No. Tyr would come for her.

It doesn’t seem like anyone followed you here… The points of Kvothe’s ears twitched toward the sound of Sleia’s voice, listening to her offer with a mixture of gratitude and wonder. Why would a stranger risk their own safety to try and protect her? Glancing at the chilly water with a shiver, the tall mare shook her head emphatically. She had little desire to return to the dubious refuge of that pool, but it wasn’t the only reason behind her response. When she considered it, it seemed wrong to risk tugging another into the undertow of her troubles. Particularly someone as kind as Sleia seemed to be.

“No, I— it’ll be okay. You’re right; I don’t think that anyone knows I’m here.” The red woman forced the tight line of her lips to curl up in a smile of her own, brushing her muzzle lightly against the offered muzzle in a return of the other’s greeting. “I’m Kvothe,” she continued, the unusual combination of syllables falling easily from her lips. Kuh-vo-thay. It was the last piece she held of her life before the islands, and the only memory of her past that she treasured. But she understood that it was the same for everyone— that the circumstances of anyone’s arrival could just as easily be unpleasant— and tipped her head gently to one side as she considered which category Sleia might fall under.

“Do you ever miss it? Your old home, I mean.”