but i was not blind;

There is something ever-constant about the Prairie. The seasons move, of course. The grasses die in winter and snow blankets the land. Spring returns with its riotous colors and settles into the lush green heat of summer, before fading to the brilliance of autumn. But for all that the land around her changes…nothing else does.

Claret has lost count, now, of just how many weeks it has been since she spoke to another soul. After her father disappeared and the herd fractured, after her mother left and Claret could not bring herself to follow, everything went quiet. Deathly still, and so oppressive that Claret sometimes feels like she cannot breathe. Her brief trip to the Falls had marked the last time that Claret bothered to venture from her home, instead perfectly content to haunt the edges of the Prairie, to linger in the small copse of woods she had been born in.

But she grows restless as Autumn descends on her home, a feeling she cannot rightly put a name to. Hormones, perhaps - she is well beyond the age of having children of her own at this point, although Claret still feels no drive to seek out a stallion and do something about it.

Perhaps she needs to visit her mother. The thought of going to Salem is terrifying – but she knows for a fact she would be safe within the confines of the Badlands, if only because Riesling is there too. Of course, Claret has no idea if she is still there – but perhaps her father will have some idea. At the very least, he could reassure her that she’d be safe.

So Claret heads for the more open areas of the home, idly looking for Zevulun. He isn’t ever far, and she does not rush her hunt – already anxiety burns in her throat at the thought of asking after her mother, at the thought of making a trip to Salem and the fear of reliving the worst few months of her life. If she manages to find someone else before her father…well, perhaps it will be just the excuse she needs to delay this trip.

claret