Falls

Kvothe?

Rising from the wild red sea of her mane, Kvothe’s ears caught the tremulous syllables that the wind carried across the clearing. But recognition of those sounds came more slowly. It drifted down into her thoughts like flakes of snow from the sky, accumulating in jumbled drifts wherever there was something solid enough to catch it. The first of these realizations — that it was her name she’d heard spoken — took longest to process, because it was impossible. The chestnut’s scarred face had turned towards the call instinctively, expecting to see the dark shade of Narene standing there between the trees. Her expression would be cold and hard, but there’d be warm relief in those dark eyes, and—

And she didn’t know the creature who stood there waiting, his golden coat a shining beacon against the darkness.

I do, a small part of her countered, its tone holding the same quivering note that had marked the stallion’s. I know that voice. I know that face. I know him, I do. Kvothe shook her head in fierce denial, silencing that inner voice even as she continued to stare. Though her sobs had dissolved into silence, she was shaking even more violently as a strange knot of fear, hope, and grief expanded in her chest. And with every small detail she noticed, it kept growing until it threatened to choke her. The way his forelock fell across one green eye, leaving the other — blue — bared to the world. The constellation of dark spots scattered across his rump. The black mark that cut a jagged path across his face, almost like a scar to mirror her own.

“No. Stop, please, no more,” she commanded throatily, closing her deep brown eyes to still the dizzying whirl of her thoughts. After a moment of this — enough time for the pain to stop and her mind to settle — she opened them again. She tucked her chin firmly against her neck, though, staring down at the slender curls of her folded limbs even when she found the courage to speak. “Who are you?” Kvothe asked, her voice harsh and accusatory as she pushed back against the jumbled images that threatened to flood her senses.

I don’t believe you told me your name.

Come with me, Kvothe.

Without knowing how it had happened, the fiery mare found herself standing. She was facing the pale stallion, her breath coming in ragged pants and her heart beating rapidly against the bars of her ribs. It was echoed by a throbbing ache within the bone dish of her skull; an agony so intense that Kvothe could scarcely see. She wanted to run, she wanted this to stop. But she was frozen where she stood. Frozen not by fear or pain, but by hope and joy and—

I need you, Kvothe…

And need. The same need that had called her here charged the air between them, and for a moment everything was quiet and still. Then the tension gave like a band stretched too taut, and the red woman ran. Not away from the golden man, but to him, collapsing against the tall broad figure with a wordless cry of grief. It was an echo of the moment that they’d last met here, a fleeting ghost of her forgotten memories. But like everything else since she’d come to this place, it felt right. And even in the embrace’s first moments, when the stallion would be rigid with shock, it felt more real than any comfort that her babcia had ever offered her.

She didn’t know him, she didn’t remember him— but more than anything, Kvothe wished that she did.

“Who are you?” She repeated, her voice softer this time. Gentler. Her dark eyes flitting up to meet his briefly, then darting away as quickly as the memories that still coursed through her. But tucked beneath his neck, the chestnut Friesian wasn’t afraid anymore. Her shudders had ceased, and the frenetic beat of her heart slowed until it matched the steady rise and fall of his chest. For the first time in seasons — for the first time since she’d woken to Narene’s dark gaze — she felt at peace.

There is no need to fear anymore.

I want to keep you safe.