Meadow

Every corner, every object whispered forgotten tales, each one a phantom limb reaching out from the grave of his past. The memories, like dust motes caught in a sunbeam, swarmed him, their collective weight threatening to crush his spirit, leaving him gasping for air, struggling to draw even a single breath.

He drifted aimlessly, seeking refuge from the memories that clawed at his heart. Each place, from mystical forests of Luthien, to tangled jungles of Atlantis, stirred a bittersweet ache within him, reminding him of the love he had known and the loss he now carried. He saw Siobhan's radiant smile and heard her gentle laughter echo in the wind, and felt the warmth of Tigerlilly's fierce loyalty and unyielding beauty. He, reached out, but met only empty air. The chill of the absence left him with a stark, painful reminder that they were no longer there. He inhaled sharply, his breath rattling through his whiskers. They were gone, all of them.

The aging grullo stallion, his legs heavy with weariness, struggled through the hissing surf and onto the hard-packed sand. As the sun dipped below the horizon, its golden rays washed over the crossing, casting long shadows in soft, pale hues. An ethereal quiet descended across the meadow, broken only by the gentle melody of a yellow warbler perched high in the branches of an ancient oak. Its lonely song filled the twilight air, offering weary travelers a fleeting tune.

His eyes, drawn from the flitting Yellow Warbler, fell upon the vast expanse of meadow. Swaying grasses tickled his knees as he ventured deeper, the wind playing softly through his unkempt black hair. The tranquility enveloped the grullo, soothing his troubled soul with a sense of peace. He wandered until his hooves found a worn path leading him away from the meadow and back towards the ever-present allure of the sea. His steps faltered, his gaze drawn to a figure silhouetted against the horizon, standing at the edge of the cliff.

A jolt of awareness, swept through his clouded thoughts, leaving his heart pounding erratically against his ribs. It could not be. He stumbled one step, then another until the distance between them dwindled, shrinking to inches. She is a ghost from his past, a figment of his dreams, forever out of reach. I can't live like this anymore. I can't— I can't—" Her words dissolved into sobs, echoing into the hollow chasm of her despair.

"Ylva," he whispered, the name barely a breath, his heart pounding with fear that the slightest sound would shatter the fragile illusion of her presence. "You can't be real," he breathed, his words laced with disbelief, "you're just a memory." Then, with a boldness that surprised even him, he leaned forward, his whiskered lips brushing against the silken strands of her dark hair.

His glacial blue eyes locked on hers. Time hadn't dulled her beauty; he saw the same graceful arc of her nose, the same inviting curve of her lips, and the same depth in her dark eyes that drew him in.