Meadow

Viveka raised her head above the billowing grasses of the meadow, her gaze locking onto an oddly colored stallion surveying her from a distance. Instinctively, her muscles coiled, ears flattening in a wary response. Yet, as she studied him more closely, she noticed his easy-going posture, calm and unthreatening. Reluctantly, she flicked one ear toward him, a subtle signal of acknowledgment, as his voice reached her over the rustling grass.

"Hello," she said quietly, her voice almost lost in the wind. Viveka contemplated the stallion's offer to accompany her in her wandering. She couldn't fault him for asking—after all, she had ventured from Salem to this meadow, a place that smelled of many others. The tranquil setting made it clear: this was a meeting ground. A place where paths crossed. Though she had long been used to isolation, the quiet sense of community here tugged at her, making her wonder if she was ready for a different kind of journey.

Viveka recalled the day Rafe had claimed her from the Commons and the violence that followed in her desperate attempts to escape. The memories stirred a deep ache inside her, a familiar pain she had carried for so long. Thinking of Rafe always made her withdraw, retreating into the shadows of her past. But she reminded herself that she was trying to move on, to take steps toward a new life. It had been so long since she'd felt anything close to freedom, yet she knew in her heart that she deserved peace. And perhaps, here in the Meadow, she might finally begin to find it.

"You may follow, though I must admit I have never been here before, so I am not much of a guide," she murmured, her voice soft but steady. Viveka kept her body language as neutral as possible, fighting the instinct to flee. Slowly, she turned to survey the fiery-colored trees that framed the Meadow, their vibrant hues offering a quiet comfort. Fall had always been her favorite season; it brought color and warmth to an otherwise bleak world, a gentle reminder that change could be beautiful—even necessary.

"I am Viveka," she offered, her voice measured as her gaze lingered on his spotted face. Something about his markings reminded her of a cat—calm and watchful, yet curious. She didn’t have much else to say, still guarded and unsure of what to make of this encounter, but there was a strange comfort in the simplicity of exchanging names. It felt like a small step toward something unfamiliar, yet perhaps, not entirely unwelcome.