He was standing at the tideline on the shores of the Prairie, and the waves were rolling in, lapping at his fetlocks, insistent, as though the ocean itself were telling him he couldn’t stay. How many times had they spoken, while they had journeyed together, of splitting their time between the Prairie and the Badlands? Too many to count. And in theory, it should have worked… But… Everything that had happened while they’d been gone - Jasper’s family being torn apart when one of his siblings had been taken (to Salem, of all places), and the Badlands itself being subject to a catastrophic flood…
“They need you here, Jasper - you’re a great Guardian. And they need me back home - Arsinoe has a daughter now, and if anything happened to her, and I wasn’t there…” Saying such things was hard, the words sank in the air and settled on his chest like stones. He couldn’t bear to look Jasper in the eye, holding back the truth. If he did, it’d drown them both, or Jasper would come with him.
And Khan couldn’t - couldn’t take Jasper away from his family again.
“We could visit each other.” Khan murmured. And then he turned away, waded into the surf. He looked back, pale muzzle pointing over his shoulder, eyes settling on the gold and white boy that he loved. “Jasper, I…” The things he most wanted to say lodged themselves in his breast, like nesting birds. ‘I need you, too. I hope you know that.’ ‘I’m going to miss you so much.’ ‘I have something to tell you, that I should have told you long ago…’ But the Badlands boy merely shook his head, and mustered a thin, watery smile. “I’ll see you soon, okay?” And then he plunged into the sea, afraid that if he lingered a moment longer, his resolve would break.
- - - - - -
Khan was stirred from his memories, black-rimmed ears flicking at the sound of loose scree shifting amongst the rocks behind him. The young stallion had long stuck to patrolling the outskirts of the Badlands, doing what he could to watch the border for threats, though no danger had come from the east for some time now. The buckskin checked in on Arsinoe and Cynisca often, but aside from that, he mostly kept to himself, watching over his father’s herd from a distance.
He loved roaming the heights the most, standing on the canyontops, where the wind tugged wildly at his tangled mane. He’d stand near to the northern shoreline, and look out to sea, toward the northeast. And he’d wonder… If Jasper ever stood on the Prairie’s beach and looked southwest, to Salem…
Once, he’d seen a figure cutting through the sea towards the Badlands, and he’d stood there, blending in amongst the clifftops, his heart soaring, because he’d know that silhouette anywhere - he’d know it in the dead of night, with no light to see by, the lines of the small, delicate frame so familiar to him… And the sound of that voice, calling his name. Khan had drawn in a great lungful of dry desert wind, ready to answer, but the returning call died before it ever had a chance to meet his lips.
How fiercely he’d missed Jasper! And if Jasper had missed him just the same - enough to make the journey here… Khan knew in his heart that if he went to Jasper then, if he were to throw his head over the palomino’s crest and pull him close, to drink in the windgrass scent of him, and curl into his side, desperate to be close to him… How could he ever let Jasper go again?
So, like a coward, he remained silent, and he slunk out of view, hiding in the heights that would be treacherous for Jasper to navigate alone, laying his ears flat and feigning deafness to the calls that continued to carry for some time. And after that voice had stopped crying his name, Khan had crept to the edge, and watched the golden boy he loved stand in the waves and cast one long look over his shoulder. Khan opened his mouth, sucking in a ragged breath, to cry out an apology, but the outgoing tide bore Jasper away from the shore, and Khan choked on a sob, and turned to press his quaking body into the stone of the Badlands, giving way to tears as the sun sank in the sky, unable to bear watching the gold and ivory figure shrink as the ocean carried him away.
- - - - - -
He’d lost track of how long it had been. In truth, he’d stopped counting long ago. The days bled into weeks, into months, and Khan continued in his solitary watch on the outskirts. It was in Cynisca’s presence alone that Khan found himself able to smile. If Arsinoe ever came to check in on him, he’d pull himself together and brush off her concerns. Make some excuse about a patrol, or claim he needed to slake his thirst, and quietly take his leave when he found himself on the edge of a gathering group.
He slept mostly in the late afternoons, standing in the shade of a rocky outcrop. It was impossible for him to rest at night - the skies were often clear over Salem, glimmering with stars, and the dark felt empty and cold without Jasper beside him. Not even leaning against sun-warmed stone was a comfort enough to bid him to rest.
There came one night, overcome by a realization that went right for his throat, worrying at him like a wild dog, that Khan found himself driven into the sea. By the light of a crescent moon he found his way to the Prairie. Dragged himself ashore, sobbing with exhaustion that had worn him down to the bones. He thought about calling out, but doing so at such a late hour would likely only stir up distrust and cause undue concern.
Casting about in the dark for several minutes, Khan found himself treading a familiar path. He’d only walked it once, when he’d still been a boy, but he remembered it still. Across the flat grass plain, over the rise, and there it was; the shallow bend of a river.
- - - - - -
Tears still drying on his face, Khan had stared down at the swift running water, mesmerised by that way it glinted in the sunlight. He’d stolen a glance at the colt beside him, and then rushed down the slope, splashing into the clear current, a laugh dancing on the breeze. He’d bowed his head where he stood in the middle of the shallow river, stared at his indistinct reflection. Touched his lips to the surface, and almost instantly spun to face Jasper, mouth dripping. “It tastes so sweet!” And, once the gold and white Prairie boy had joined him by the river’s edge, Khan had struck at the water with one small hoof, sending a spray of water over his new friend. The droplets had glistened like stars in Jasper’s mane. Khan had bolted, lost his footing and tumbled, trembling with silent laughter, lying in the soft, cool grasses of the Prairie…
And then, the grief had overtaken him, and he had tucked his face close to Jasper’s chest, and wept until he couldn’t breathe…
- - - - - -
Khan stood atop the grassy knoll, and stared down at the river bend, indistinct in the dark and through the sheen of tears that had gathered in his eyes. But he could hear it whispering to him, he could scent it in the air. And when he closed his eyes, he imagined he heard the youthful voices of a pair of colts… With a sob catching in his chest, Khan stumbled down into the water and stood there, shivering miserably, murmuring beneath his breath, questions of a similar vein to those he’d wanted to ask before he’d come here the first time, what felt like so long ago. “Jasper, do you… Do you still come here to find peace in the quiet? Do you think of it as often as I do - that day we met, when you brought me here? Do you… Do you think you could ever forgive me?”
And he stood there, the water rushing between his legs, chest aching, throat tight, jaw clenched, hardly able to hold back from weeping, over all the pain he had caused, all he had missed, and all that might be forever lost to him.
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