| Senu Of the Sands |
| It was something that weighed on her, as surely as the passage of time itself did, the way she had fled that day in the canyons when she’d found herself face to face with one she’d loved and lost. And why? Because Senu had been afraid. Afraid to hope. Afraid to lose her soul’s companion again. When dawn had broken and she remembered, a great grief had welled up within the small, striped mare, and she had scrambled her way back into the labyrinth of stone, short of breath, one shoulder stinging from where her skin had been scraped by a jagged rock in her haste.
She had spent the day wandering the canyons, calling out Marceline’s name. But the red mare was gone, and there was only the faintest trace of her scent left behind. Senu returned and lingered here, slept in the shadows, pressed to the rock wall, but come morning, even that subtle scent was gone, and Senu moved on, slaking her thirst, catching sight of Raegar at a distance, before venturing out into the expanse of Salem. She would search along the borders for any sign, call until her voice was silenced. Chance, or perhaps ill fate, saw to it that no matter how she searched, the mare who still called herself Ripple did not cross paths with the red mare again, though she heard whispers of the once-Queen’s name, still caught traces of her scent. Every time, it would make the breath catch in her throat, and she’d turn away, not strong enough to believe until she beheld the red mare with her own honey-brown eyes again, heard that accented voice for herself, breathed in the familiar scent and felt the warmth beneath the brush of her muzzle… The desertbred mare dared not hope. If it was true, after how she had fled from before Marceline, what reason would the red mare have to return for her? There was little room in her heart for anything other than guilt, and a familiar old grief. So Ripple returned always to the Badlands, to the last place they’d been together, and the only place she found a measure of peace and almost-belonging, settled within sight of Raegar and his family. The curiosity of the younger ones soothed the aching in her chest, and after some time had passed, the grief and guilt began to ebb, and Senu almost felt like she could belong. But then a stranger came, and for the safety of his herd, and the others who had called the Badlands home, Raegar led them away, across the isle of Salem, and Ripple followed him. But when the Hills rose up out of the heathaze ahead of her, the buckskin lagged behind, and she refused to go any further. “You say he is one I can trust, but he was there,” the mare trembled as she spoke, overcome by memories and emotions long buried. “He was there that day, he was there and he did nothing to save her, and I cannot, I cannot -” her breathing was ragged as she backed away. The words left her feeling almost physically ill - knowing that she’d be alone in the wastes, with no home, no family, if she held to her course. But after everything, Senu, Ripple, now Wanderer, could not bring herself to venture any closer to the Hills - not while Evrain ruled over them. “I loved him, I loved him once, when he was very young, but I lost him too, and I cannot...” The mare had shaken her head meekly and stepped back, her wounded heart feeling so torn. If it had been to the Desert, or the Dunes, that Raegar had led her, Senu would have followed without hesitation. But not to the Hills… And so it was that the sooty sabino mare found herself dwelling on the fringes, between the Desert and the Dunes, feeling perhaps more lost than she ever had been before. It was better this way, she tried to convince herself - after all, twice now she had survived a great flood unscathed, when those who’d been with her had drowned, or lost to her in other ways… The breaking of dawn stirred her into wakefulness, and as she blinked, shaking the stiffness from her limbs one inky-edged ear twisted at the sound of approach, shrinking a moment between the rise of sand and the patch of scrub that she’d tucked herself away in, out of sight, before steeling herself and stepping out to meet whoever was approaching. But the breath was pulled from her lungs when she caught sight of a figure that she hadn’t seen for so long, except in dreams that drew from her most treasured memories. Feeling her throat tighten, she merely shook her head for a moment, unbelieving - surely it was some strange, early morning mirage - but the wind shifted then, played with those tangled locks of mane, and carried the scent to her. “Y-You cannot be here,” came the hoarse whisper, even as she stumbled across what little distance remained between them. Stretching toward the red mare, Senu trembled with emotion, and a half-sob sounded, deep in her chest when the featherlight brush of her muzzle dispelled all doubt. “It is not a dream, again. It is real. You are real. M-Marceline…” |