Meadow

This girl is a gun, before you know it, it's done
And you'll be wishing that you crossed your fingers

arceline's encounter with Lucifer and Nyimara and Astheroth in the Commons has left her feeling even more unmoored than before, something she never thought possible.

She knows she should go back to the safety of Shore, but the mere thought of spending her life in that place, waiting with bated breath for a stallion who might never return, is enough to rend her heart in two. She knows Oberon is right. There is more to this world than the shores of Atlantis. There is more to life than waiting, and Marceline does not wish to wait any longer. She has faced pain and loss before and lived to pick up the pieces, surely she can do it once more, even if the blackness of her sorrow threatens to swallow her whole.

She had been a queen, for gods' sakes. A queen would never subject herself to the indignity of waiting for a man. A man who had not even bothered to say goodbye, who had seemingly left his children behind with scarcely a second thought. She had lived without Asmodeus before, and she would live without him again.

Somehow.

Marceline stands at the edge of the Meadow, considering her next destination. Imshael lingers nearby, and though she keeps her eyes glued to him, there is a glassiness to her gaze that betrays her wandering mind. The Peak might welcome her back, but in her short time there she had grown tired of fighting a losing battle with the stallions of the Lagoon. She could go back to the Forest, perhaps. Seek Hasan out and allow herself to fall once again into his warm embrace, carve a life out for herself with him if he would have her.

But Salem still lingers on her mind. It calls to her like a siren's song that echoes across the sea. There is no doubt what - or who - would be waiting for her there, but Marceline refuses to feel afraid of them anymore. Nyimara has been a persistent thorn in her side, and Mattheo would undoubtedly hitch himself to her if it meant making her suffer. But she could not - would not - allow them to stop her.

She would take back the Hills. She would take Salem. She would be a Queen once again.

Yet she could not return without Oberon. She has still seen hide nor hair of him, and she'd be damned before she left for Salem before finding her son.

Almost as if she has willed him into existence with a mere thought, Marceline catches a glimpse of a familiar gold-and-ivory coat emerging from the leaf-bare forest near the far edge of the Meadow. A sharp gasp of air is pulled between her lips, her eyes widening as if she cannot believe that she is really seeing him.

"Oberon!" She calls, breaking into a canter. She careens towards him, propelled forward by the potent cocktail of anger and relief that swirls through her head. She all but slams into him, wrapping her neck tightly around him, her breath shuddering on the exhale.

"Mom, what are you doing here?" He asks, baffled by her sudden and, apparently, unexpected appearance. Marceline draws back just far enough to pin him with her sharpest glare. "I was looking for you, you fool. You wander off while I'm gone, without so much as a goodbye, and expect me not to panic and come after you?!" Marceline's tail snaps across the curve of her hip, irritation scrawled across every inch of her face. "And you left your brother all by himself. He's a child, Oberon, what if he had gotten hurt? What if you had gotten hurt? I don't know how you reached this harebrained decision to up and leave, but rest assured it will not be happening again."

"Mom, I'm fine. Imshael is fine. Everything is fine." Oberon is quick to defend himself, but still he averts his gaze towards the ground. Grown he might be, he still feels some sense of shame in the face of his mother's chastisement. "I'm sorry I left so suddenly, I just wanted to get away. I thought you would too, after Dad left, but you've just been sitting there in the Shore like you expect him to come back, and I can't do that anymore." Oberon wills his racing heart to calm as he glances up into Marceline's face, steeling himself as he says, "He's not coming back, Mom. We both know it."

Marceline's expression falls flat. He's right, she knows he's right, but it does not make accepting the truth any easier. She swallows against the stone of grief that settles in her throat and now it is her turn to cast her gaze down. "You're right." Is all she says, crimson lips pressing into a thin line. Silence hangs heavy in the air between them for several long, agonizing minutes.

Finally she glances back up at Oberon. One deep, steadying breath later, she tells him: "That's why we're going to Salem. I plan to retake the Hills. We'll build new lives there. No more waiting around. I promise."

This seems to be all Oberon wants to hear, his lips curving into a hopeful smile. "Okay, Mom. I'll come with you."

Marceline motions for him to follow, collecting little Imshael to her side, but the sudden snap of twigs and the unmistakable sound of hooves crunching across leaf litter catches her attention. 'Wait… wait!' a young voice calls from behind. Marceline turns, her eyes falling on the slender form of a filly who has just emerged from the forest, and freezes. The girl is a spitting image of Nyimara, from her fair silver hair to the litheness of her frame. But it is the striking green that swirls in her eyes that truly catches her attention. It is the same shade of green that she had found herself lost in countless times. Marceline's breath catches, but she forces an amiable smile onto her face as she steps towards the girl.

"Of course, darling," Marceline coos, "what is it that you need?" Was she lost? Hurt? Looking for someone? So many questions float about in Marceline's mind as she awaits the girl's answer.