Falls

Mercifully, and with only two words in response, he obeys.

Ylva remains there, prostrate on the ground, for some time. As her breathing steadies and the tension melts from her body, a bone-deep weariness settles within her, curling up and nestling in all the soft, dark places of her as though it never intends to leave. She could lay here forever, in the mud, with the stench of wet earth and rotting grass heavy in her nostrils, if it only meant there would be an end to her pain and humiliation.

It's only when her body begins to complain under the duress of her awkward position that she rises. She does not look at Errant or turn his way, but if he were to steal a glance he would see the whole front of her muddied, from her face to her hooves, the darkness of it stark against the pale rose of her fur. She makes for the water and wades in slowly, keeping to the shallows at first, then deep enough that her tail fans out behind her. Every movement is slow and deliberate, and her expression is as still and serene as stone, as if she has burned the candle of every available emotion down to its wick. Even the bite of the freezing water does not so much as make her flinch.

The water ripples about her as she pushes toward the falls itself, and under that silver veil she stands, eyes closed and ears sloped to each side, occasionally blowing water from her nostrils, as the force of the falls chases away any trace of her shame. Even once she is soaked to the bone and the luster of her fur is renewed, Ylva remains there, unmoving, with the water firmly caressing the sides of her face.

Until, abruptly, her dark eyes snap open.

She stares with a fathomless expression across the water, across the ground now dappled with the tentative beginnings of snowfall, at Errant. The space and silence between them is heavy, filled only with the the hypnotic white noise of falling water.

Then, she moves.

The water parts before her, snowflakes dissolving upon the ripples, and she emerges onto dry land, dripping, the russet of her mane almost dark as blood where it sticks to her neck. The distance between her and Errant is reduced to but a single stride; she could reach out and touch him if she wished. At first, however, she is quiet and still, regarding him with a solemn, guileless expression. The wild, frightened creature within her has fled; all that's left now is a mare with exhaustion written in every line of her face.

"Please allow me to say something... without your rebuttal," she begins, her voice low.

She sighs, a cloud of condensation billowing about her face, before continuing.

"I am sorry, Errant. It's been... a shock seeing you again. I have already left so much behind; I did not expect another part of my past to come hurtling back to me."

She places the apology in the cold air between them, letting him process it for a few moments before she continues. There is another sigh, a glance away. A slight shiver as the wind hits her chilled skin.

"I think... I think we both are hurting too much right now, in our own ways, to be of any good to one another. I cannot... give what you need. And... what I need right now is time. Alone. I don't know I want, Errant. I don't know who I am, except for the things I have lost. And right now I feel as though I have no love left in me to give."

She breaches the distance between them, extending her muzzle to touch him, gently, beneath the jaw.

"I will always care for you, Errant. Perhaps not in the way you wish. But, I do. You deserve to live a life undefined by anyone except yourself."

She pulls away but remains close enough to tickle him with her whiskers, and seeks his eyes as she delivers the last of her speech.

"Be free of me."

The snowfall has thickened by the time she leaves him, and she melts away into a wall of white, her unspoken goodbye dissipating in the wind.