Falls

"We leave tomorrow. What will you do, Ylva?"

The familiar lilt of her cousin's voice in her ear. A soft nose; gentle pressure on her neck. Warm sunlight wrapping around them, sheltering them from the freezing wind.

A cold twisting in her gut.

"I don't know, Unni. I don't know."



One frigid winter's day thirteen years ago, a pale young creature washed up on a lonely rock in the middle of the ocean, having lost everything she knew and loved.

Today, that creature walks within Ylva, the thread between them gossamer-thin, the tender ache of their combined grief swirling and coalescing into one tangled mass. Everywhere Ylva looks there is a memory of that creature: perhaps here it was that she brought Runar into the world; perhaps there it was that she stumbled from the surf, fresh-faced and wild-eyed, with Warsaw's scent chasing her.

Present Ylva is no longer young, but she is robust with health and soft-bodied from a lifestyle of ease. Her winter coat is thick and soft, the color of a dusty rose, the pale streaks in her mane and tail bold against it. Yet there is weariness in her face as she takes in the bleakness of the winter landscape, her eyelids heavy and her expression solemn. She moves through this island of memories with the posture of a wilting flower, her head low and stride dragging through the yellowed grass. She stops briefly to observe a bird singing in the low branches of a naked tree, its breath curling like ribbons of smoke in the freezing air, then continues on, the rumble of the falls leading her way.

She had arrived two days prior, though it may as well have been no time at all, given that she had spent the lion's share of that period in a state of torpor. Having not braved the long swim between the continent and the islands in at least six years, she had emerged onto the shore of the Crossing near-unconscious with exhaustion, her trembling legs carrying her just far enough for her to find somewhere secluded to rest. Dreams plagued her; faces swam in and out of her mind, calling her name, harrying her, crying for her. Several times she woke with a start, the feeling she had forgotten something deperately important like a nest of snakes in her belly.

Had she made the right choice? Is it ever possible to know such a thing?

She cannot fully rid herself of these ruminations—perhaps not now, or ever—and so she carries them with her, close to her heart, nurturing them as a mother would a child. As the trees part to reveal the silver veil of the falls, she smooths back the hair from the feverish forehead of the questions within her, lowering her lips to kiss their flushed cheeks, helping them settle into fitful slumber as she reaches the edge of the water. At the other end of the pool, a dark stranger stirs in the shallows, but Ylva turns her eyes away to allow them their deservedly private bath. She drinks, both of the fresh water but also of the details of the world around her: the comforting crash of the falls; the smell of damp earth; the sparkling ripples of water dancing around her muzzle and fading into the muted colors of her reflection.

She closes her eyes and drinks with an empty mind.



"Whatever you decide, you'll always have a place with us," Unni said.

Ylva's smile, when it came, was feeble.

"My head knows that. But... I'm not so sure my heart does."