Somewhere in the stillness of the wintry meadow, two paths diverge. One leads into the darkness and desolation of a silent wood, and the other— she doesn’t know. Lanfear doesn’t know what will come of allowing the shadow to draw near; of surrendering herself to him. She doesn’t know, and for a creature as wary as the world has shaped her to be, even the brightest unknown is more terrifying than the grimmest certainty. For that reason, the mare’s eyes are wild and white-rimmed when her nameless companion steps closer, her ears twitching back towards the base of her skull. But there is also desire in the way her body lists gently towards him, and appeasement in the way she champs at the air.
Even without words, the spotted woman is capable of speech— but not eloquently enough to share the loss that has made her who she is. Not enough to explain how her trust in the world has been irrevocably broken.
In the stalemate that follows the stallion’s tentative offer and Lanfear’s ambivalent response, the violent shaking of her skin gradually eases— and the subtle tremble of his intensifies. The wind. In its absence, the dark mare recognizes that the shadow is sheltering her from the frigid gusts. And that revelation— it sends a thrill of confusion and a strange, spreading warmth down the full length of her spine. Having fought fiercely for every breath of air and every beat of her heart, she grasps the preciousness of this gift more than anyone else— as well as the meaning that it conceals.
Only one other creature has ever sheltered her, sacrificed for her. Only one other creature has given greater value to her life than their own. And after Morrigan died— after she died, the last daughter that she’d ever borne was left to face the world alone. Scarcely weaned, and without so much of the wisdom that children learn in emulating their parents. As a result, Lanfear’s social graces are underdeveloped, and she’s never learned how to give voice to her thoughts. But she’s survived the trials of her past, and there’s a future full of possibilities spread out before her. Two paths diverge, and she can either choose to continue along as she has— or forge a new path forward.
A path where someone might walk beside her.
Releasing the tautness from her body with a shake of her head, the mare’s features soften again, and her ears creep gradually forward. After a moment, she even uncurls herself from the fir’s broad trunk, shifting her body slightly closer to the black-coated male. As ill-practiced as they are, Lanfear’s invitations are more subtle and uncertain than her rejections, but somehow the absence of the latter expresses her decision more succinctly than any gesture or speech. For the first time, she is choosing to leap willingly into the unknown.
And putting her faith in another to catch her before she meets unyielding earth.
