"Sometimes, I dream," Darshan whispered weakly to the Prairie stallion, in an effort to break through the silence that bore down upon her and Zevulun in the anxious wait for his sons to return. "About you. About what could have been." The tears that had gathered in the kathiawari’s eyes ran down her muzzle, painting her sorrow clear upon her face. “Maybe it would’ve been better," her voice breaks as she says this, and part of her regrets it immediately, but in truth, part of her honestly wishes she could turn back time, and fold herself into Zevulun’s side instead of fleeing from him. "But it would’ve broken my heart to do that to Balor…" The too-thin mare sank lower, her weak body wracked by sobs. "Broke my heart anyway, didn’t I? He died because of me."
The drum of hoofbeats swiftly approaching is enough to settle the frantic thrum of her heartbeat, so shallow and erratic.
"Hey," she murmurs in reply, straining to reach for Romulus. She nods, and now that he’s here, now she knows that Larka won’t be far behind, she no longer fights to keep on her feet, and she her chest heaves with relief as she feels the soft grasses of the Prairie soften the ground beneath her. She is silent for a moment, but then she blinks her eyes and fights against the exhaustion for a moment of clarity. "You don’t have to stay, Romulus. When I… You don’t –" Darshan cringes and hisses at a sudden jolt of pain. "Promise me you’ll look after her," she pleads. "My lost ones came to me in a dream, and they told me our daughter’s name is Jaya. Jaya. Victory."
A sudden thought had her twisting around to seek Zevulun again, and she half-rose, driven by urgency. "I have no right make demands of you, Zevulun, but if… If Balor meant anything to you, if you care for Larka, please, please look after her and Sitara when I —"
Tears flood her eyes anew as Larka finally arrives, because she is so weak, and so tired, and there are so many things she wants to say, but there is no more time.
No time to tell Zevulun how much she admires him, and that in all her life, she’s never known a more noble heart.
No time to tell Romulus how immeasurably grateful she is to have met him, and how, in the twilight of her life, he brought peace to her bruised and broken heart.
Only time enough to have one last conversation with Larka.
I’m here Darshan. I’m with you.
"You’ve always been with me Larka," Darshan curls around to breathe softly in the grey mare’s ear, and the rest of the world falls away, so that in these precious last moments, it's just the two of them. And somehow the hours slip by, and Darshan drifts in and out of sleep, safe and secure nestled in the Prairie grass and tucked into Larka’s side. One of the times she wakes to the drawn out contractions, her cry is strangled with fear because she thinks her eyes have failed her, and the thought of being deprived from looking upon the beloved mare at her side one last time is agony.
But then she sees the stars, and realises that night has fallen.
She sleeps again, and wakes just in time. "The sun will rise soon. Will you stay with me? To watch it from the heart of our home." It had become something of a ritual of theirs in the past, and Darshan regretted having let so many sunrises slip away from them since her return. Not today though.
"When Sitara was born, I said I’ll go nowhere without you," she murmurs, voice slurred from sleep and exhaustion. She swallows, and struggles to speak her next words aloud, for they are so heavy with sorrow and grief, but the frail mare feels compelled to speak them all the same. "I’m afraid this is one journey I’ll make alone." Stifling a sob, she curls ever closer, voice raw as she begs. "Forgive me, I do not wish to leave you." She feels as though she wants to cry again, but there are no more tears left in her.
There is only love. Misguided, and a little late, but there, all the same.
"I love you more than anything, more than everything." Darshan makes the effort to lift her head as she says this, blue gaze settled on Larka’s face, but not quite able to meet her eyes. "Do not cry, do not cry for me," Darshan hummed, her voice so soft and quiet. She remembers another time, and another place, when the world had felt like it was falling apart. It hadn’t then, and she hoped, for Larka, it wouldn’t now. "Larka, Larka," the kathiawari crooned, a purposeful echo of the words she’d used to comfort the grey when they’d been reunited on the Crossing, drawn irrevocably closer in their grief after Sanibel’s death.
"Daro mat priy ek - do not be afraid. You have my love for always. And so does Sitara. You’ll remind her, won’t you?"
The babe was coming. Her water had broken, and the contractions were consistent now, washing over her like the incoming tide. Darshan had no more strength to hold her head up. She lay in the dewy grasses, recalling the time Shamwari had first found her on the Crossing, in the wake of a loss of his own. Darshan had been so young, then, her heart still whole and unbroken. But it was full now, even after what she had lost. Sitara, Khan, Jaya. Vihaan and Shingwedzi waited for her upon a distant white shore. Balor, too, maybe. And Sanibel. Sanibel.
"I’ll go searching for Sanibel soon, Janaam. My Heart, I’ll find her, and we’ll wait for you." With the last of her spirit, Darshan made this promise. And with the last of her strength, she delivered Jaya into the world. "There, look to the horizon, Larka!” The newborn makes no sound, no movement, and seems entirely unresponsive.
"Can you see us waiting for you? I’ll wait there forever," Darshan breathes, and then falls still and silent. Behind her, the tiny filly stirs to life, and breaks herself free with a spirited flailing of her legs, filled with vigour and spirit, and hungrily gulping in her first breath, heavy with the scent of the Prairie grasses.
Until we are together again. |