Halcyon
OOC: Set as Fritjof leaves the Forest.
Once it was established that Voyager's interest did not lay in courting her, nor, seemingly, in anything that had to do with her herself, Halcyon had faded again. Her days lost structure and purpose, and she drifted through the tree trunks for hours at a time. Outwardly, there was no indication that anything was untoward: her coat was shiny, her frame round, her eyes open. Those who knew her as a young mare might notice that she no longer took time to make sure her mane and tail were brushed out, nor had she taken the time to buff her hooves on stones until they were neat. Those who might have noticed, however, were few and far between. More worryingly, inwardly there was no one truly home, only a ghost that wandered wraith-like through her mind, caressing and inspecting memories as they arose.
Some nights she did not sleep at all, and other days she slept whole afternoons away. Sometimes, when she did not sleep, the dreams stopped being dreams and felt more real, like she was in them once more, living out each moment instead of just watching it happen. She often woke from those 'dreams' in more pain, but they were always worth it to feel the caress of her love again, to ply her muzzle through Hirka's forelock, or to nip playfully at Titus' tail.
She had known she was in such a dream because she could smell Fritjof, not just remember the scent of him, isolated from the surroundings, but truly smell him mixed with the earthy undertones of the Forest. And while she had slept yesterday, it was not impossible that she had misremembered how long it had been, or that her poor mind was truly losing it. Either way, she would not turn down a chance to be with Fritjof, in dreams or not and so she followed the trail, her pink muzzle brushing along the ground until smears of mud and fragments of leaves were plastered to her muzzle.
It led her to the sea, of all places, and she slowed, her brow furrowed. They never went to the beach in her dreams, never touched the water, not even the freshwater streams and pools that dotted the Forest. Any time she thought of Fritjof and the water, it was to think of his 'death,' and hal harbored no desire to relive those memories. The long days of waiting and watching and scouring the shoreline for any fragment of his return, only to be forced to accept that he wasn't going to return. He couldn't return. And she was alone.
Her blood pulsed so loud in her ears that she couldn't hear anything as she took tiny tentative steps toward the ocean, her figure quivering with the fight to hide and the fight to see. When she could at last see the storm-grey expanse of the autumn ocean through the tree trunks, her gaze tried to lower to the ground to search for his hoofprints but something else caught them. Something she had never once pictured, lest she also picture it disappearing into the dark ocean depths.
A head, bobbing along, dark-faced, black-maned, silver coated with white that gleamed even under the fitful fall light.
Halcyon couldn't breathe, couldn't move, could only watch as it swam away, and away, and away, until it disappeared into the horizon, having never once dipped below the surface.