After a time, she no longer feels the cold or her sweat-dampened coat or the sharp ache in her chest. Curiously, as the snow piles more thickly around and on top of her, the dark mare actually begins to feel warm. Comfortable, and curiously light. Even the hard earth beneath her body fades into insignificance, and it’s as if she’s suspended in a vast, white void. But where she had fought and fled from the desolation of the meadow before, she embraces this new emptiness with uncharacteristic complaisance. This absence of— well, everything is the closest that Lanfear has come to peace since her mother’s death. And though it’s still far from joy, the desertion of her sorrows is heady enough to drain the last tension from her body, and nudge her slowly towards oblivion. Sleep; she’ll sleep. And when she wakes again, perhaps her frightening solitude will prove itself no more than a bad dream.
Drifting away from herself as gently as the feathery flakes of snow, the rhythm of her breaths steadies. Deepens.
Stutters.
Käraste… käraste var snäll och vakna. Soaring along on cloud-spun wings, Lanfear hears these words from far above— a breathless whisper against the strident roar of silence. At first, she dismisses the familiar voice as a product of her mind; as her desperate yearning made manifest. But then it comes again. I’m sorry… I’m so sorry. Louder, closer, and accompanied by puffs of warm wind. No, hot. Hot enough to blister her skin. Hot enough that she tucks her head to the side with a soft moan, feeling the soft blanket that covers her back begin to fall away. Cold. Her bared shoulder and flank are suddenly cold, and the spotted woman feels every inch of the frozen soil on which her chin rests. And as for her wings— the inky skin at her withers twitches sharply, but there’s nothing else there to obey her commands. She is earthbound again. Grief-bound.
Tears freeze her eyes shut, but the wash of stale, warm air thaws them gradually. After a few moments, Lanfear is able to open them— to stare blearily out across the meadow with its white veil of snow. IIt’s another few heartbeats before she registers the slender black pillars that jut up from the snow beside her, and more still before she recognizes them as legs. Legs? Her thoughts are moving slowly; trickling down like the fat white flakes falling from above. But eventually it occurs to her that if there are legs, there must be some creature attached to them. A creature who is standing close to her; far too close.
Baring her teeth and flicking her ears back into the unruly sea of her mane, the sable mare jerks sharply away. Feeling the rough scrape of bark against one shoulder, Lanfear becomes a creature possessed by the madness of desperation, striking out recklessly with all four limbs in an attempt to scoot backwards while simultaneously holding the unknown threat at bay. But somewhere in the midst of this wild dance— chest heaving, and foam frothing her lips— her gaze rolls upward, and everything stops. Except for the rapid thunder of her heart and the harsh pant of her breaths, the slender creature is abruptly still. Abruptly calm. Abruptly soft.
And with a quiet nicker, Lanfear shows that she still sees him— this shadow that holds her darkness at bay.
