I’d like for it to always be this way.
Sidra let his warm words ruminate in her mind as she followed him deeper into his territory, where the shadows of the towering pines would further blanket them both. She felt a flurry of butterflies in her stomach, young, hopeful, and slightly misreading his intent. She assumed he wanted her to be able to visit at her leisure, missing the point that it wasn’t just her she was speaking of. It further confirmed in her mind that she would be having a conversation with her father, though. It did not seem right for the two neighboring herds to be this way when so much of their border was shared. Sidra’s eyes trailed away from the surrounding beauty of the Forest and looked over its leader instead, noting how at ease he was in his home and how proud of it he seemed without flaunting it. She let her smile soften, then forced herself to look away from him and instead admire the scope of the territory they traveled through. As much as she would have loved to watch him, Sidra’s love and curiosity of the Forest hadn’t been a fallacy, she really did always wish she could see more of it. She was happy to have such a handsome guide, but she still wanted to see everything she could.
Especially if this was the last and only time she was going to be able to come here with Bacardi.
The first place they stopped was where a tiny creek babbled through the trees. Sidra’s gold-lined ears perked as she glanced first toward the left, following as much of it as she could see until it disappeared into the land, and then to the right to do the same. She watched the little water bubble and flow past some deep green ferns whose leaves were bent over, skimming the water’s surface. Sidra’s gaze lifted to Bacardi as he explained the freshness of the water and told her he’d always wanted to follow it to find its source. Her eyes brightened with excited curiosity. “I wonder if it comes from a lake high up in the mountains… or maybe even a spring from deep underground.” Two things Sidra had heard of, but never seen herself. The Prairie rivers and ponds came from rain and from snowmelt fed water-sources over Luthien, and there were no mountains to climb or hidden lakes to play in.
Sidra lowered her muzzle to take a few sips, giving a happy hum of a noise behind her closed lips after she’d swallowed. “It tastes so crisp!” It wasn’t that the Prairie water wasn’t fresh, but there was something about the water in the Forest, closer to the sources that it flowed out of to provide the Prairie the water it needed.
The pair continued and Sidra’s steps felt lighter. She moved with more confidence, further and further removed from the apprehension that’d first struck her. She was filled with a sort of giddiness and any time she glanced at Bacardi, she wanted to grin, feeling he must be feeling the sort of exciting freedom she felt too. Right? If they’d known one another better and she knew the land better, Sidra might’ve teased him into a little game of tag or something playful and fun like she was feeling.
The land rose upward, and she threw her weight forward into her steps, climbing up after Bacardi and stopping when he did, glancing out over the body of water before them. He asked if she’d ever seen her reflection and she glanced toward their shapes she could just barely make out – they’d need to move closer to see them better – and noticed how incredibly still the water’s surface was. “In some of the water in the Prairie I have,” she admitted, “but the water is always moving, or the wind is always blowing, and the surface is never so…” - she exhaled breathlessly, taking careful steps to inch closer and glance down at the horse looking back up at her - “perfectly still.” Her smile cracked wider across her lips. “I can see everything.” She flicked her ears out, studying the pale white, then forward where she could see the delicate velvet gold hair they were lined with. Her hair, a mix of white, cream, and yellow, fell across her face and she tossed her head a little to throw it back out of her way. She looked so different than she could remember the last time she might’ve seen her face in the water’s surface. Was it Bacardi’s influence? Her seizure of individuality and freedom? Or just a byproduct of growing up as quickly as she seemed to be?
In the water’s surface she looked over at Bacardi’s reflection and wondered what he thought when he looked at her.
“It’s so pretty.” Her voice was hushed, as though she didn’t want even her breath to possibly disturb the water’s surface as impossible as that was.
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