Freya's joints creaked in protest as she ambled her way through the Prairie. More and more lately her body has felt as if it were deteriorating, sometimes at an alarming rate. She knew she was in her twilight years - had been for some time now, if she were being honest - and that her end was likely approaching on swift wings. Each day she could feel herself growing weaker, her soul growing dimmer. Aches and pains ailed her every day, and her eyesight was no longer as sharp, the world around her a soft blur of color and light and shadow. Her hearing had faded as well, the voices of her loved ones falling on her ears as if through water. There was no denying that she was slowly being robbed of everything that made her feel alive. Time had always been a treasured commodity, but it felt far more precious now than it ever had before, despite its cruel inclination at snatching away all that she held dear.
Freya paused at the edge of the Prairie's watering hole and peered down at her reflection. No longer was she the pretty young mare she once was when she'd first set hoof on the Islands. Her coat had grown dull and her hips protruded against skin that felt too loose. The hair around her nose and forehead had turned silver in her old age, and her cerulean eyes had lost their youthful gleam. The fire that once burned bright there had been dampened by the unwavering passage of time. But she saw it, every day, reflected in the eyes of her children and grandchildren. It brought her some small measure of comfort to know a part of her was being carried within them.
Heaving a sigh, the sabino mare stepped away from the pond and settled herself delicately beneath a nearby acacia. The gentle whisper of the breeze through leaves lulled her, her mind wandering as she rested. As they always did, her thoughts turned to her family. She thought often of them, especially those that had been lost to her. She remembered Bjorn - her firstborn, her little bear - with particular fondness. It had been some years since she had seen him, and still with each day that passed she ached to lay eyes on him once again. She thought of Frida, her spirited daughter who had met her end far too soon, and of Frida's children, who'd had to unfairly bear the burden of telling their family she had passed. Freya thought of Zephyr, so much like his father, all dashing smiles and sweet words, and hoped he was well in his adventures across the Islands.
With the breeze caressing her skin, the smell of spring blossoms in the air, and thoughts of her loved ones warming her heart, Freya allowed herself to sleep, a small smile on her face as she dreamt of a family that was whole and happy. |