Falls

Sabriel.

She shivered at the sound of her name on his lips, hearing it echoed in the soft baritone of Bondurant’s voice. And in the silence that followed, Sabriel waited for the pain to find her, her charcoal body curling in upon itself. It was the price she paid for such reminders. The cost of the memories she clung to. Only— only this time, the ache she anticipated never came. This time, there was only a curious tug in her heart; the shift and click of pieces falling into place. And falling back into Zevulun, the slender mare exhaled her breath in a soft hum of contentment, her sapphire eyes disappearing beneath their dark lids. It was impossible to name the emotion swelling in her chest, but she felt warm and safe and whole. But the stallion’s words broke the stillness with a reminder of the inevitable, and Sabriel’s peace flickered and faded like the stars overhead.

I suspect there will be many times I need your company. You understand my soul like no one else does. Heart twisting with a sharp new anguish, the silver-haired woman realized that she felt the same. That the lines between what she wanted and what she needed had begun to blur. A little comfort, the company of someone who knew her— not her name or appearance, but her grief and her regrets— didn’t seem so much to ask. Yet now that she’d tasted it, Sabriel wanted more. She wanted this forever, and not only for now. She wanted…. she wanted… But, I will make sure to only come if it’s absolutely necessary. Just know you’ll be on my mind.

With a shake of her head, the silver black banished her selfish thoughts and held Zevulun’s gaze. The Badlands. Rafe. Shackles and solitude and sorrow. Those things were her future, not this. Not him. He’d still be in her thoughts, though— and in her heart. No matter what waited for her in the days ahead, Sabriel would never forget the blanketed male’s kindness. But it would be best if he forgot her. “Surely there are plenty of distractions for you in your Prairie,” the mare teased lightly, ignoring the ache that thought sent through her chest. “And if not, you’ll find them. You may not see your own worth, but they will. And if you ask them to follow you… there won't be a single one who can say no.” With a flutter of unease, she recognized that the same was true for her. Only Zevulun hadn’t asked her. He wouldn’t ask her.

But if he did— if he did, what would her answer be?

I think… When the cremello glanced up at the sky— drawing her attention to the way its black canvas had lightened to a deep blue— Sabriel’s despair won out over her hope. Only a couple hours remained until dawn. Only a couple hours of peace and warmth before she returned to Salem. Breath catching in her throat, she let her eyes drop back down, committing what she could of Zevulun to her memories. Would the time that she had be enough to capture him as he was? The silver black wasn’t certain, but she would try. She would try to remember the pale pink of his lips pressed to the darkness of her skin. The winter sky of his voice against the snowy white of his face. The warmth of his voice when he spoke. We’ve spoken of the past and we’ve spoken of the future, but for now, we should rest in the present.

Sabriel was tired, but the last thing that she wanted was to spend their last hours together in oblivion. It seemed wrong to deny Zevulun his rest, though, after everything that he’d done for her. So the sable woman sighed, ghosting her lips over the curve of his cheek. “You’re right,” she agreed, shifting her body closer to his and tucking her muzzle between her legs and her belly. It wasn’t the most comfortable way to lay, but she wanted to watch him. She wanted to see his face without the lines of grief and concern; to know him in every way.

She wanted to remember the faint curl of his smile when she slipped away at the sun's first light.