Viđarr had taken the Savanna. He’d made it his own, he’s made it his home. The shadow has fallen in love with the place on every level, but there was a part of him that longed for the Meadow. The landscapes weren’t that different, really. After spending a year (more than that?) watching over the Meadow, keeping an eye on the goings on in the Crossing, he still missed it. A creature of habit. In the Savanna, things were quiet yet. The comings and goings, the cast of characters that cycled through the Meadow, he missed it. No, Viđarr longed for it.
That, and the woman that had been the constant reminder that he was seen. He was real. Viđarr needed those reminders that he was alive. The shadow of a stallion had become attached to her and the delicate, silent dance they engaged in. They were more than strangers, but Viđarr couldn’t have told you exactly what they were. As winter had come on stronger, the shadow found himself worrying. Was she okay? A guardian by nature, but he couldn’t watch over her from his home.
Into the sea, Viđarr threw himself. The shadow of a man needed to go back for her. He needed to return to make sure she was okay, and maybe… maybe. What would she say? They were basically strangers, but there was something else that hung between them… at least Viđarr felt it. Did she even feel the same way? Maybe she’d tell him to get lost, and maybe he’d deserve that. There were so many thoughts in the shadow’s head as he makes the swim back to the Crossing. He needed to try.
Pulling himself from the sea and shaking the briny water from his coat, the stallion can feel the creeping chill of the winter. Snow was starting to fall thickly from the sky, exaggerated in the way it floated slowly to the ground. Viđarr’s steps were elegant, and he crossed the invisible line that they’d drawn through the Meadow. He needed to find her. There was an acute longing, a desire, a need. Where was she? Viđarr realized that he didn’t even have a name to call out. The shadow of a stallion could smell her on this place, but where?
As the snow started to fall faster, more densely around his shoulders, Viđarr’s gait went from relaxed and confident to concern. Past concern was something else, something far stronger. Where had she gone? Was she in danger? His heart pounded in his chest, amber gaze flickering and wild. Into the empty meadow, the shadowed stallion called out. It was getting colder, and colder still. Had someone stolen her away from this place? Was she safe? If anything happened to her, it was unlikely that Viđarr would forgive himself. The shadow paused to catch his breath, and to catch any sign of her on the wind or on the ground.
Back to the side that he’d taken as his own, Viđarr tracked her. Had she… had she been looking for him too? Maybe that was too romantic a thought. With great speed, great intensity, the shadow of a man took off once more. Alert. Ever alert. Worry creased his brow. The shadow’s heart dropped, nearly to his toes, when he finally saw her. Huddled beneath one of the fir trees, and she was shaking. Shivering. Snow collecting on the mare, and his heart aching. “Käraste… käraste var snäll och vakna,” the words fall before he can stop them, moving to close the gap between them. Though the endearment would usually be misplaced, he has nothing else to call her. Instead it’s the only thing he’s called her in his own mind, the title his internal monologue has assigned.
Viđarr longs to reach out, to touch her, but he thinks of how she’d reacted the last time. The shadow of a man let go a deep, soft sound as he neared. His head hung low, and for the first time since last winter, he crossed into the mare’s space. Though he longs to, Viđarr doesn’t touch her. “I’m sorry… I’m so sorry…” the words were soft, and his eyes on the woman were a plea. Oh how his chest ached.
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Translations:
Käraste - dearest
Var snäll och vakna - please wake up
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