Every night, she sees them.

After the sun dipped below the horizon, whether they were alive or dead, the ones she loved came to her as ghosts. Uriah, the child who had never been. Solomon, the painted stallion who had sired - and buried - him. Bondurant, with his loudly-spotted coat and his soft green eyes. Sephiroth, the son who’d shown her what her ill-fated firstborn might have been. Zevulun with the gentle warmth that had healed her - and their son, the child she’d left, his golden coat scarcely dried from the passage of his birth…

What had his father named him, Sabriel wondered? And had the colt served as a comfort to Zevulun - a piece of her to cherish? Or was his existence a painful reminder of the silver woman who had left them both? Grief and regret and recrimination flowed through her mind like a spring-glutted river, carrying the respite of sleep far away. And Sabriel - graceful even in her advancing years - uncoiled herself carefully from her sleeping daughter, stepping away from the light of Lirael’s pale body to lose herself in the shadows. Her thoughts were no quieter there, but it was a sanctuary nevertheless. A place where she might let the muffled sounds of her sorrow escape her. A place where her slender body could shudder and tremble before curling in upon itself. Her muzzle tucked beneath a thigh, her silver hair forming a curtain between her eyes and the rest of the world.

Going back doesn’t erase it, mother. But staying away - the pain of your leaving will never heal. Lying there, the dark mare remembered fragments of conversations she had shared with Lirael. I forgave you for leaving me, didn’t I? Because you came back. She hadn’t; it’d been the spotted girl who had sought her out. And yet… in a sense, Sabriel had returned to her daughter that day. She had confronted the pain of her past - the heartaches she’d buried and fled from - and found that some things were worth aching for. Just tell them the truth, mother. They deserve that much from you at least, just as I did. But the truth - would it hurt Zevulun? Worse still, would it break him, knowing the choice that she’d made?

Was it selfish to reopen old wounds, so that she might be whole and happy again?

“It’s selfish to stay away,” the young-old voice chided, and Sabriel chuckled softly. She could feel the corner of her lips curving up into a smile as she uncoiled her body, stretched like a cat waking up from its sleep, and turned to face her spotted child. Lirael stood watching her, seeming poised to continue her one-sided argument - and then, meeting her mother’s gaze, smiled too. And oh, how much she looked like Bondurant when her features lit up that way. The answering pang in Sabriel’s heart was half grief, half joy, and all warmth. “You’ve decided?”

The silver mare nodded, breathing deeply as she looked up at the pale pink sky of dawn. And together, they traveled towards the distant sighs of the sea.


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Peace, it seemed, could never come without a price. This time, Sabriel traded the comfort of her daughter’s company to return to Zevulun’s side, though she clung to the hope that their separation would be short-lived. After a brief rest on the Crossing, Lirael had insisted on swimming north to Tinuvel, while the dark woman had continued east towards Luthien. And where the last time she had made this swim, she’d fought hard for every inch of progress - this time, she felt light, buoyant, as she skimmed steadily along.

It wasn’t until she was heaving her slender body up the beach that Sabriel’s limbs became heavy, and a leaden weight pulled her lungs down against her heart. Struggling to breathe, it was all the mare could do to fill her chest enough for a soft, wavering call. Then it was all she could do to stand on the shore, the waves still clawing at her hocks as she battled the impulse to throw herself back into the sea. And while she did, cruel thoughts circled her mind like carrion-birds, sinking their talons in wherever they could find purchase. Zevulun would chase her away. There was nothing left for her here; this wasn’t his home anymore. The stallion had died, and their son as well… Tears streamed unnoticed down Sabriel’s already-damp cheeks, but still she stood.

Waiting to see whether Zevulun would come and make her whole again.