Falls

Her sharp words have hit their mark.

Errant's head tilts, as if in question, and that slight movement is enough to make Ylva's chest tighten with guilt. Never once, in all the time they have known one another, has she ever spoken to him so, as if he is a foolish child to be corrected and not a seasoned knight of valor and virtue. Yet her guilt is as fleeting as the beat of a hummingbird's wings, too delicate to survive the maelstrom of the hundred nameless emotions that writhe within her.

The wild, frightened creature within her is simply too strong.

She grimaces, chokes out a half-sob, and takes another two steps backwards, away from Errant, shaking her head violently so that her cream-and-russet forelock fans about her face. Everything is too much: the persistent buffeting of the frigid wind; the thundering of the falls; Errant's unceasing plea; Errant's scent; Errant's very presence. Errant.

Ylva's nerves are afire with the desire to flee, and she half-turns to stand on the precipice of the whim, her body almost vibrating with tension. She feels simultaneously heavy as lead and light enough to float on the breeze.

"Errant—" she chokes out, but her words are swallowed by the wind.

I am one who loves you and would hold you close again just to remember he is no longer at war—

The rest is lost in the rush of blood in her ears. The wild, frightened creature within her has clamped onto the bit, steering Ylva fully away from the stallion; her vision is blurred as she half-runs, half-stumbles across the damp ground.

A hoof slips, and the ground rises to meet her. Her knees and face take the brunt of the fall; she grunts as the wind is knocked out of her, and skids a foot or two before landing belly-down in an undignified heap. Dark eyes wide and wild, she lifts her head in a flourish that flicks mud into the air, and gasps for breath as her body reflexively strains—and fails—to lift her from the slick earth.

There's a moment's pause as she processes her shameful predicament; then, resigned to her fate, she presses her filthy face back to the cool preassure of the ground.

"Errant, please," comes her voice, so quiet and tremulous it will be a miracle if he catches it. "Please, leave me be."