Common

Arsinoe couldn’t say what possessed her to go to the Common. With nothing but the East side of the Ruins to her name, she truly has no business skulking about, looking to claim someone. But something Nahawi said stuck with her – he had told her that she could be a Queen anywhere and it did not have to be the Badlands. Perhaps he had a point; perhaps there was some lingering trace of wisdom drifting around in his caved-in skull.

So her first step in inspecting the other islands (except Tinuvel - the snow could go to hell, as far as she was concerned) was to stop off for any news. It is surprisingly dead for Autumn - usually, fresh young fillies are thick on the ground, come to tempt fate and fall prey to hormones for their future. With nothing happening there’s little to spark her interest, until a wave rolls in and brings with it a chillingly familiar form.

Vadim. At first she thinks it must be a hallucination – some sort of perverse revenge fantasy playing out in her mind's eye. But his smell is there on the wind, buried under the bite of salt and the coppery tang of blood. Not her imagination then. All too real. All to present. It truly is him before her.

He doesn’t move, and bright red blood seeps out around him on the sand. She takes a shaky breath, eyes glinting in the sun as she tries to see if he’s breathing, searching desperately for the tell-tale rise and fall of his thick form. But between the crashing surf and the sickening state of his face, she cannot tell.

Arsinoe’s ears pin and she glances quickly around for any threats - she may hate him for leaving her, but he is still the father of her eldest child. At one point, he was her entire world. Abandonment or not, she cannot just leave him to this fate. Swallowing back bile (because what if he truly is dead) she moves towards him, an intentional gait as she hurries to his side.

She is no stranger to violence, no stranger to suffering – but what she sees before her makes her eyes close for a long moment as she tries to steel herself. His face is bleeding - so profusely that she cannot tell just what damage has been done. But his leg – it rests oddly under him, at an angle that turns her stomach.

As if he can sense her presence, his eyes snap open. Tension she was barely aware she was carrying uncoils from her gut at having proof of life. At least she will not have to deal with a corpse.

“Vadim,” she breathes, unable to resist the urge to lower her muzzle to him, trying to keep the horror from her face, from her voice. “What happened to you?”