Falls

His icy stare remained steadfast and unyielding. He looked at his former lover, noting the delicate contours of her face, the elegant curve of her tail draping over her graceful hindquarters, and the deep russet hue of her coat. Every aspect of her that he had once adored came rushing back to him, like an impressionable young colt blindly overlooking the numerous warning signs she had exhibited. She was a vixen—exquisite to look at, yet her tongue and teeth harbored a lethal poison, ready to consume. Abruptly, he turned his bone-white skull away from her and fixed his gaze on the shadows, wishing that by ignoring the she-devil, she might vanish back into the abyss from which she had emerged. Deep down, however, he knew that no amount of wishing could chase her away.

Her voice, soft and enticing, filled the narrow space between them. A delicious sort of torture that you cannot hide behind in the lies you weave. The lies you tell yourself.” she whispered, "I know the real you. I have seen him time and time again when you let your guard fail." Her warm breath brushed against his muscular neck, igniting a surge of anger at her audacity to come so close, to share even a moment of the same air. His ears flattened against his skull as his icy stare intensified, locking onto her. The words he unleashed were harsh and sharp, aimed to wound deeply, a torrent of smoldering rage and disdain poured out at her hooves.

He realized his words had struck a chord when her ears vanished beneath her silvery mane and her dark eyes flared with renewed anger. ”You did this Bjorn!” she hissed, the seduction in her voice replaced by fury. ”You abandoned your family time and time again. Abandoned me. You left, chasing after the next pretty face, and left me alone and forgotten. You did this to yourself!”

Siobhan deserved so much better. Tigerlily, Ysabel, Ylva—their names and faces flickered in his mind. Each one of them had deserved more than what he had given. He had left them repeatedly, always returning, seeking their forgiveness, even expecting it. But Nyimara was right; he was the architect of his own pain. A breath caught in his throat as the weight of it all crashed down around him.

I stole it all away from you.” she continued, her voice trailing off in a chilling whisper. ”You created this monster. Why start fearing it now?” Then she moved closer, pressing against his side, the warmth of her body against his blue hide. Numbly, he turned his head away from her, focusing on the dancing shadows among the treetops. Everything she said was true, and it took her presence to force him to confront it. He had fashioned the very monster now leaning into him. He was the creator of Siobhan’s suffering and anguish.

He yearned to push her away, to strike her with his hooves and lash out with his blunt teeth, but he couldn’t move. He remained paralyzed, as if the weight of his past held him down. A ragged breath escaped his lips, making him feel suddenly much older than his twenty-two years. He stepped back a few paces until he could meet her gaze head-on, the fierce anger melting from his icy eyes, replaced by a stoic, unwavering demeanor. "What is it that you want from me, Nyimara?" he asked, pausing as his breath lingered on his whiskered lips. "You have what you wanted. Siobhan is gone, and I haven't seen Lily in months... I am alone. Are you satisfied now?"