The grey had hunted her down where she'd hidden herself in the Cove, and driven her into the sea that was as unforgiving as he was. If he thought she'd cower meekly beneath his rule once he had her in his domain, he was to be sorely disappointed. Once upon a time, perhaps Ofelia would have been afraid of Ironclad - of what he could do to her if he wished, of the darkness that she sensed in his heart. But for her small and slender frame, the red dun mare was no fragile creature. Long ago, someone she'd loved had taught her how to be strong and brave, and even after the long separation, Ofelia had not forgotten.
She would never forget Xiomara, nor the day they'd first met - upon the very Shore she'd been driven back to.
The days she'd lingered on the islands parted from Xiomara had come to greatly outnumber the days they'd had together, but that meant little to the red mare. From the start, the larger blue roan had sevred as an anchor to her, and for the love Ofelia felt for the mare, she had left her own child behind. The fate of her daughter was unknown to Ofelia, but in all her searching since they'd last seen one another, there had been no sign of Allegra.
If granted the chance, perhaps Ofelia might have done some things differently, made choices that wouldn't have left her so burdened with a guilt that she was forever trying to shake off. But she knew, without doubt, that her feelings wouldn't change, and her heart would only wholly belong to one.
And for that one, she had kept herself safe, turning on her captor with a flash of teeth, before vanishing into the jungle of Atlantis. If Ironclad had thought he'd be able to bring her to heel and use her as bait, he was to be sorely mistaken. Ofelia hid herself away, more familiar with the lay of this land than any other part of the isles.
She was wary, isolating herself from everyone she was not familiar with, maneuvering through the verdant undergrowth of the Shore with confidence and ease, ever attentive and watchful of the grey who stalked through the shadows of the jungle. And then one day he was gone. Ofelia waited, and he did not return. Others came, and went, some stayed, but still Ofelia kept herself apart.
After what had transpired upon her return to the Cove, prior to Ironclad coming for her, she dared not risk her freedom again. Not so far from the place she was most likely to reunite with Xiomara, or one who could tell Ofelia where to fidn the blue queen.
The weeks blurred into months, and she slipped into the sea to make for the Crossing, where throughout fall and winter she roamed the forest around the falls, and went as far north as to linger in the valleys of the Peak, quiet and keeping to herself, wanting no trouble. She adjusted to the cold, her thin coat becoming thicker in the winter as she adjusted to the colder climes. After the snow began to melt - when it only blanketed the highest reaches of the Peak - Ofelia waited for the water to lose its bitterly cold edge before she made for Tinuvel.
Alighting upon the shores of the Bay, sticking close to the fringe of the territory with the shoreline in sight, Ofelia tucked herself out of the worst of the wind while her red coat dried. Pressing on to the border the Fell shared with the Cove, Ofelia cast about for any scent she recognised - both friend and foe - hoping to glean some measure of peace.
But answers remained elusive.
It was only once she entered the treeline on the border that she became aware of another nearby. Squinting into the shadowy forest, eyes not yet adjusted, she spoke, breaking a silence that had lasted far too long. “Hello?” The dun mare remained where she was, not keen to venture farther any more than she had until she knew who exactly she was heading towards. “I don't mean to trespass, but I...” If only the wind would change direction and carry the scent of the other horse to her.
“I'm trying to get home, only, I am not sure if it's safe.” A pause, in which she contemplated elaborating on what she meant - was the silver haired mare still prowling the trails of the Cove? Ofelia decided against it. Better to focus on the present, and hold fast to hope. “Has Solomon returned to claim what was once his? Is Xiomara...” The little red mare fell silent, then, unwilling, or perhaps unable to give voice to her deepest fears - that some great tragedy had befallen the skull-faced warrioress, or that the brute that had taken her for the nefarious purpose of drawing Xiomara into danger had somehow succeeded.
And then the figure emerged from the gloom between the trees, and Ofelia drank in the sight of the other equine, her tiger eyes glinting as she retreated a step or two, back into the light.
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