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There is no conscious decision to make the swim. No weighing of consequences and risks. No careful consideration of what this will mean to Rethe, to Emhyr, to any of her children.
It is an instinct buried deep, awakened by the scent of an enemy. She rouses, restless, and paces the familiar woods of the Bay with an anxiousness she hasn't felt in years until her painted coat is steaming with sweat in the chilly spring dawn.
Fell's absence has left her largely numb. She loves and dotes on her family, eats and sleeps and drinks, but she does not feel like she used to. She does not dream or hope the way she used to. And for all of these years, that was fine. It was okay for her to do that because no one expected or wanted anything more of her.
None of her children needed her, and the other half of her heart was long gone.
Perhaps that is why she does not feel guilt when she kisses Rethe's brow and bids her goodbye, imparting one last warning about their new neighbor and promising to visit. Promising she will not stay gone forever, this time. She feels nothing other than a nameless, formless anxiety that wraps around her body like a malignant force, dogging her steps and occupying her mind.
It doesn't fade until her hooves cross the border into the Commons, and even then, only shrinks in size - not volume. Anxiety has been her bosom companion her whole life, and she would likely not know how to behave without its bite.
Kohelet shivers in the late morning air, the sky overhead too overcast to afford her any warmth or comfort. Even with the additional warmth of being on the Crossing, Kohelet felt the cold in her bones. She blew out a long, steadying breath and then walked inward, seeking the sweeter grasses at the edges of the treeline. It felt less exposed than the center of the Commons, but she knew all too well what kind of risk she was taking.
And all too well how little that scared her now.