Falls

There was no time for Sabriel to regret or renege on the moment of her vulnerability; no time for her to contemplate the wisdom of her choice. In the few seconds it took her to draw a trembling breath, the stranger was already curling around her. And by the time that breath was exhaled in a shuddering sigh, it was too late for the silver woman to pull away. Instead, she sank back into the intoxicating warmth of his skin, letting it bloom beneath the dark canvas of her own with strange, tingling kisses. For an instant— as the numbness that hypothermia had wrought was lifted— the air around her felt colder, with fangs sharp enough to pierce her summer-thin coat in a single gust. Then the stallion’s neck lifted over her gently-quivering body, sheltering her beneath its muscular arch.

Holding her in a way that was alien and unfamiliar even after the embraces of not one, but two lovers.

As stark as the contrast of the pair’s coats, Sabriel’s own youth had been defined by tolerance at its best, and hatred at its worst. Though she’d been weathered and worn bare by time and the trials she faced, it was too generous to blame Morrigan’s maternal shortcomings on the past alone. The simpler truth was that the old mare was as cold and implacable as Tinuvel’s winter— and the sort of woman that should have never been permitted to breed. So naturally, she’d given birth to a long succession of children, each one raised more carelessly than the last. By the time the whiite-striped filly was born, whatever compassion she might’ve once held— if any— had long run dry. And so Sabriel grew up knowing nothing of the comfort that a soft-spoken word or a gentle touch could bring. She grew up wild and wary and withdrawn.

I’ll be here as long as you need me to be. Sabriel’s ears flicked back to catch the syllables of this soft vow, and the hopeful flutter in her chest was as irrepressible as the urge to meet the stranger’s eyes again. But in this, at least, she was secretive; glancing back only long enough to see the pinkish lids that now shuttered them. There was no way of knowing whether she’d imagined the pale green of Bondurant’s gaze staring back at her. No way of clinging to the shade that slipped away like water through a sieve. Letting her chin fall back to the earth again, the silver black closed her own eyes and sought to reclaim the image that had— only minutes before— been real enough to touch. And it wasn’t enough. The past remained where it’d been buried years ago, and she was left alone to bear it.

No, not alone— at least, not for now.

Warming gradually over the long silence that followed his proclamation, the rhythm of the dark mare’s breaths and heartbeats deepened. If not for the tethers of her worries and her sorrow, Sabriel might have slipped as easily into dreams as she’d been prepared to do with oblivion. Instead, she felt her numb lips and heavy tongue forming the unconscious threads of her thoughts into words she’d never intended to speak. As if she’d become drunk on the heat of the stranger’s body and the relief of having someone— anyone— beside her in this darkness.

“Don’t—” she murmured, her eyelids fluttering slowly closed. “—don’t make that promise.” And echoing across seasons of grief and loneliness, Sabriel heard two other masculine voices speak. I will follow you anywhere you go. I'm here. As long as you want me, I'm here. “Don’t promise me anything, I—” Her voice broke on this last syllable, fading into silence. Inhaling shakily and swallowing hard against the tight fist of tears that closed over her throat, she continued after a brief pause. “The world cares little for what we need, and less for what we want. Because if it did— if it did, then we wouldn’t be here now.”