Falls

The shiver that trailed down Sabriel’s spine had nothing to do with the chill of her skin, and far more to do with the gentle caress of the stranger’s touch. Like the soothing hiss of his breath earlier, it promised shelter from the storm of her grief. It promised her peace in this fleeting moment at the cost of the same in her future. And fool that she was, the dark woman accepted this poor bargain without a second thought. For as long as the silence lasted, she laid there inhaling deeply of the crisp fall air and the stale warmth of the stallion’s breath. She laid there pretending that the sweep of his chin was the brush of Bondurant’s lips; imagining that he’d found his way back from eternity to be at her side. Or that she’d somehow joined him there after all, to stay with him always.

Then came the poignant murmur of his voice, chased by the sorrow she’d only briefly escaped.

I wish I could. Sabriel ached for the same, and that ache only increased with each word he spoke. For another handful of seconds, her own emotions lay forgotten as she was immersed in his own— in the remorse and regret and raw hurt that were clear in every syllable. It was the same trap that Rafe had laid out for her only seasons ago, but the slender mare still stepped into the figurative noose regardless. And even as it drew itself tightly about her neck, it was him she wanted to free, not herself. In that moment— regardless of the consequences— Sabriel would have gladly taken every last one of the spotted male’s burdens unto herself. Not as penance for her past crimes, but because it wasn’t in her to witness another’s suffering. She’d drunk from the bitter cup of grief to its very dregs, but such hardship had only served to soften her to others’ pain. Having witnessed the miracle of birth and the tragedy of death in the same breath, how could she want anything but to spare another heart from breaking as hers had?

Peeking up from beneath the white veil of her forelock, Sabriel sought the words that could erase her companion’s sadness and guilt. But before she could sort through the contents of her mind, the cremello’s remark sent them spinning all over again. “Then you’ll be here forever,” she vowed, an unexpected note of fierceness beneath the hushed whisper of her voice. And taken aback by the fervent hope that chased that vow, the silver black was silent for long enough that the stranger spoke again. If…you wanted to tell a stranger— She listened while searching the soft lines of his expression and the dark depths of his eyes for pity or pained courtesy, steeling herself to set him free of whatever obligation he felt. But it was hard to be certain what she saw, and harder still to imagine letting him go.

It was hard to hold her silence too, with her inhibitions still freed by the same fatigue that bound her body. And so— before Sabriel could stem the flow— long-buried secrets and old sorrows were spilling past the dam of her lips. “Since we only have forever, I’ll keep it short,” she began with a laugh that turned to a sob somewhere in her throat. “But I’ll warn you that I don’t deserve your pity or your kindness. Everything that I’ve lost— which is everything that I’ve ever had— is my own fault. I never meant for things to happen as they did, but—” Like poison being drawn from a wound, Sabriel spoke slowly, painfully, of her past. She spoke of Solomon, omitting any mention of his crimes in recognition of how much he'd changed. She spoke of Uriah, the son she’d loved too late and lost too soon. She spoke of Bondurant, and the heartache that followed their reunion— denying herself the same generosity she’d given Tinuvel’s King. She shared fleetingly of the joy she’d found in raising her twins, then at length about the desolation that followed their departure.

And when it was over, she even spoke a little of Rafe. “—and I wasn’t certain, but I was determined to change. To trust again, to love again. So I went with him to his home...and my prison. I let desperation and grief blind me to what he was, and it would’ve never happened if I’d recognized what I had before it was gone.” Lapsing into silence, Sabriel reflected on everything that she’d shared; on the things she would do differently if she could only go back in time. But she couldn’t.

There was nothing left for her but this moment, and the empty hope that it would never end.