Force-claiming is not allowed here. This is a peaceful, neutral area meant for socialising.
She looked up in time to glimpse the flicker of something in the melting-ice depths of Zevulun’s eyes. But as to what that something was, Sabriel could not say. It was buried as his gaze went distant in a way the dark woman knew all too well; distant in the same way her own gaze went when she was visited by her ghosts. Had the mention of love and loss awakened some shade from her companion’s past? A stallion as compelling and compassionate as him had undoubtedly had many lovers, and tasted the bitter brew of heartbreak more than once. But somehow, Sabriel knew that the traces of pain and doubt in his expression were her doing. With the walls of her heart already torn down, she’d plunged recklessly from one truth and into the next without considering its consequences.
And here the consequences faced her in a pained sigh and three softly-spoken words. I understand, Sabriel.
Here was where Zevulun would turn and go, the warmth and light and beauty of him fading back into memory. Back into the pale imitation of her dreams. Pain swelled the hollow cavity of her chest and Sabriel flinched from it, turning her head away from the spotted male. Her truths had hurt Zevulun enough; he didn’t need the added burden of her tears. And she didn’t need to watch him walk away. She could close her eyes and watch it just as easily there — all the small pieces of him that she’d tucked away to cling to. The faintly gold curls of his lashes, the soft dawn-pink of his skin. He would turn around slowly, heavily, as if his shell-colored hooves had been replaced with stones. The slender mare might feel wispy strands of his tail tickle her belly before he started to go, his snow-spattered flanks receding from view until the darkness swallowed them.
A feather-soft touch brushed a line down Sabriel’s neck and she shivered, sucking in a breath. Bracing herself for the farewell that she could feel on those lips. And Zevulun, he—
I will always love Avalon. Puzzled — flickering with the same spark of hope that she’d seen in the stallion’s eyes only moments before — her eyes blinked back open. If this was a goodbye, it was the strangest one that Sabriel had ever heard. One delivered at the end of a long-winded story, perhaps. One that would grant her more precious moments of his company. Tilting her chin back towards Zevulun, the silver black held her breath as he continued, struggling to keep her expression blank. As if she feared that any movement, any animation, might remind the cremello of what he must inevitably do.
She listened in silence and stillness as Zevulun spoke of his home and his herd, feeling a pang of envy not for the love she shared, but the life that she (they) did not. Though she’d only glimpsed it in the short time she’d spent in the Prairie, Sabriel ached for the warmth and joy and comfort of the place. She wanted to belong there, too. She wanted to belong with (to) Zevulun with an ache so desperate that it felt like drowning. But she could only give him the pieces that remained, and they—
—and it would be narcissistic of me to think you loving me would automatically undo all the love and time you once shared with them. Sabriel’s ears twisted back gently, coming to rest amidst the wild white sea of her mane. Still holding her breath, she stood as hope rose within her like a warm tide, threatening to bury the grey stones of her doubts. Could Zevulun truly understand? She met the fond warmth of his eyes, watched his lips curl into a smile. And hearing the gentle teasing of his next words, was reminded again of Bondurant. Bondurant, who had known her heart better than anyone else in this world — until now. I don’t have that big of a head.
More than anything else, Sabriel wanted to be his… and to carry that piece of him (that scrap of life that was both of them) with her when they left this place.
Together.