ecstasy burns fast
The sun-baked sands of Atlantis are a familiar sight to Ender as he strolls along the border between the Ridge and the Harbor. His adventures around the Crossing during the Fall have been largely forgotten while the temptations were plentiful, but now that they’ve tucked themselves away for the winter,
some of the season’s more memorable encounters begin to resurface.
No mare has ever left a lasting impression on Ender’s fickle attention span, at least until this season. She had been tall, silver-haired, graceful, seductive… and he bristles with fury every time she comes to mind. Ender dreams wistfully of the day Frida’s overconfident expression might be cast away in favor of apologetic regret. Her ego needs knocking down a good couple pegs, and although he is in no position to do so right now, he giddily awaits the day. She had not only refused him (the
only mare he had ever invited home) but she had the audacity to flip his invitation around on him. Of course, she had asked first, but that didn’t matter; he didn’t think she was serious at the time, and had laughed at the joke. Now, though,
now her invitation stings like a slap to the face.
She will come to regret it.
Ender comes out of his turmoil — a place he has fallen far more times than he is willing to admit since the unpleasant end of their little dance — to find that the stale border of Paradise lies at his feet. It is quiet, and barren of any but the faintest scents of its previous leaders.
What luck.
Ender turns toward the jungle, away from the beach, and makes his way towards the highest point of the territory. He does not bother to search Paradise extensively for any remaining leaders or herd members; the decayed borders and the lack of any individual leaping out to stop him along his way is enough to satisfy his requirements for ‘finders-keepers.’ His feathered hooves send him swiftly (though not always gracefully) up along the ridge, his excitement increasing with every step, with every moment that passes that no one gets in his way.
She’ll regret walking away from me, he thinks smugly, the peak in sight just beyond, when —
A call rings out, at the same time as a
very familiar scent slaps him across the face.
Ender freezes. A moment of silence hangs heavily in the dense jungle around him, and no one responds to Frida’s call. Is he sure it’s Frida? Of course he is; he’s spent weeks searching for something shinier than her, something to take his mind off what
should have been his, of
fucking course…
He charges up the last bit of slope, slightly frazzled, his appearance less fashionably messy than it is just messy from the climb. His smoky gold face is uncharacteristically expressive, hazel eyes narrowed with suspicion and mouth twisted into a scowl. There she stands, somehow even more smug than the last time he’s seen her, clearly less worked by the climb than he is which is
infuriating. They must have gone up opposite sides of the ridge, oblivious to each other.
“Well,” he says, thinking fast, trying to appear as though he is not too angry to speak.
“I wasn’t expecting visitors so soon. I’ve barely cleaned the place up.”
