Fell was lucky that Shvana’s bear had already moved beyond the Bay borders by the time he discovered what had happened. The girl was barely more than a stranger to him by the time she fell, but he would have thrown himself at the beast for her anyway, and most certainly would have died in his stupidity and grief. It would have been a violent, but worthy, end to the Bay stallion, he thinks.

But it would not come to pass in this way. Fell lives, unscathed, with nowhere for his rage to turn but inward. He eats himself alive as the spring frost melts away and stays away, coiled away in the shadows like a snake desperately trying to swallow its own tail.

In the past, he might have unleashed his turmoil on some nameless Crossing stranger (Viveka, who breathes still, or the Rafe daughter who does not). He had assumed it was better than slipping at home and hurting one of his own. In the end, it had come back around all the same. Now, he has no choice but to take it out on himself, the only person who truly deserves any of it anyway. He stands mostly still in the fringes of the woods, allowing the setting sun to glance off the sea and directly into his eyes, where it sears his sight away after a while. Every few moments his head snaps violently downward, and he digs his teeth into the skin of his chest and bites down for a few seconds before relenting and falling still once more.

His mouth is metallic, lips damp with blood, and his chest is raw and weeping by the time Mṛgaśira flashes down the beach. She cuts through his sun-ravaged vision, and he screws his eyes shut for a second before blinking after her. When he realizes who she is, the guilt doubles down upon his shoulders, for he hasn’t even seen his lovely red-streaked mare since their child died. He should have grieved with her, not hidden away from her, leaving her to hurt all by herself.

Even so, he can’t bring himself to break from the trees after her. She is so fiery, more so than he has ever seen her, that it somehow feels as though he is even duller and darker and less alive. He’s wallowing, and he knows it, but he can’t stop. It takes more energy to dig himself out than to just sit here and suffocate.

He finds that his legs begin to move of their own accord, despite his desire to stay put and suffer. He begs himself to stop, he can’t run with her, he can’t, but his body seems suddenly parched and full of craving. Somehow, though his spirit does not share the desire, his body seeks out the life and energy that is pouring from Mṛgaśira’s snowy body, and he lumbers quietly in her footsteps. He won’t catch up to her any time soon, but Fell, a passenger in his own body seeking nourishment for his withered and resentful spirit, finds a bit of peace in the monotony of the messy crescent prints as he drifts unwillingly behind her.

FELL

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