It took Fell a while to notice, but something had been off since Kohelet’s return from the Badlands. His mind did not immediately go to the things Rafe could have told her; rumors had never exactly been something Fell thought about in his life. No one whispered things to him as a colt except for Naydra, and it wasn’t like he could whisper secrets to anyone else. He wasn’t scared of any information being spread about him, either, at least not yet. Fell may have tried to veil his nature in general from Kohelet, when he wasn’t experiencing an active identity crisis and genuinely trying to do the right thing, but he had never thought to conceal specific actions.

Still, he feels a pang of anxiety when Kohelet calls out for him. He’s swung like a pendulum between overbearance and space, not quite sure what it is that she needs, but neither option has really helped to encourage back into place that which has shifted just a few inches out of balance. He is in the midst of a swing away when he hears her, and pivots, changing course immediately. Despite the season, there is little else to pull Fell’s attention away from Kohelet. Even the few moments he’s spared have been fleeting, guilty distractions. He is frustrated, and it’s hard not to be frustrated with Koh, though he knows he can’t truly be upset with her. As always, his feelings just… have nowhere to go.

He slips through the fragrant pines at a brisk trot, the cool autumn air already crisping the edges of the breeze here on Tinuvel. Tomorrow morning there will likely be frost on the ground before the sun rises and burns it off, bringing back the illusion of summer, at least for a few sweet hours around noon. Fell dreads and craves in equal measures the silence of the snow just a few weeks away.

He slows when he sees her, breath slightly quickened, but less from the jog and more from the nerves. His heart raps politely against his ribcage, not yet a knock. He whickers silently at her, ears cupped forward with curiosity, muzzle outstretched. He can see that she is far more nervous than he is, which only makes it worse.

What is it? he wants to ask. What’s wrong? What did I do? Because of course it must be something he’s done; he’s never quite free from the tenacious feeling of guilt that accompanies his muteness and the brutality he has grown accustomed to using in order to compensate for the former. Often, the guilt only makes the violence worse, and the two beasts feed off each other indefinitely. Sometimes, it lays on him heavily like a blanket of wet snow, and he is lost in the suffocating silence of it.

This is one of those times; he hasn’t even been confronted yet, and already he is sinking in the cold softness of a snowdrift, unable to step forward the rest of the way to brush his muzzle against his mate’s, lest he pull her in with him.

FELL

stallion. 16hh. black. marwari x. Rougaru x visurix.