Silver ties appeared to weave across the subtle swell of the shallow sea where Essetia found herself lost amongst the endless horizon. Nighttime had lent the Flats a seamless continuance that the spy was certain she’d never see elsewhere, but found enchanting nonetheless. Each time she turned in search of a breach in the backcloth or a tremor in the otherwise imperturbable veneer, she found only absolute sublimity. The stars had encompassed all that one’s eye could find and deflected the curious musings of their onlookers until daybreak climbed her gilded tower toward the sun. Essetia imagined it was an infinite cycle that had been born from the earth that bestowed their Gods such power or perhaps just an age-old tradition that dated back to times that yet had no name. Either way there was nothing quite so transcendent or lovely that existed anywhere else in Helovia.

As the tide brushed gingerly against the fronts of her shins, the mare relished in the gentle sensation and closed her eyes against the worries and fears that had guided her there in the first place. They were like mountains being pressed upward from the dry sands of the south in a rumble of an earthquake— her two plates finally colliding. Her affection for Ulrik and her need for autonomy were like leviathans steadily marching to war against the other. But what existed then did not feel so concrete now, as the spy and the engineer had again parted ways, and the hole in her heart had begun to smolder. The fires she’d once controlled had been turned inward and her palisades were doing little to calm the storm raging between her opposing desires. Instead, her taunting summoned old hurts to rise from their slumbering seas in order to face one another in battle, whereupon nothing would remain but her smoking bones.  

But then the waters were shifting, becoming less smooth and more alert, and Essetia glanced up from where she’d been pondering her own feet. She hadn’t been expecting company nor had she been disillusioned by such odds, but she struggled to accommodate the changing circumstances anyway. A wave of heat spiraled up from her neck into her cheeks when she realized just how abject she likely appeared and the spy stumbled to recover some semblance of her couth, unassuming demeanor. From such a distance it was hard for the bay to decipher the intruder and instead she waited for him to come close enough to make clear. However, out of mere habit, she glanced about quickly, seeking out the wolf that she’d left behind in the Throat. He had become her cloak and her guardian, but without Romul Essetia was left feeling disgruntled and alone.

Instead of retreating to the shore, the spy remained adrift in hopes that her onlooker would be less inclined to wade through the shallows should his intentions be ill-fated. However, as she narrowed her eyes against the argent silver glow of the moon and stars, she recognized something about him that she toiled to unsurfaced from the dredges of the past. No name came to claim the stallion or the crimson beard at his throat and chest, but the spy recalled him from some time ago in the Threshold. He’d been an irksome creature, chock-full of haughty insults and smutty commentary, but Essetia had offered him a place beside her nonetheless. Now that she’d become a mother, his presence in her home sounded more offensive than beneficial and she was glad he’d chosen other accommodations.

“Fancy seeing you here,” she called out amusedly after a time. Her words were likely faint and less pronounced from a distance, but the darkness that surrounded them helped to cover the soft curve of her vindictive smile. The stud was considerably older by comparison and his ancient, warped horns looked far too large to sit upon such a gaunt and narrow face, but there was an alluring discordance about him that lent to his overall manner. The telltale signs of old age were still just as apparent as before (if not more so) in the shallow ruts between each prominently exposed rib, and Essetia imagined it must grow painful to live out his days in the cold of the Basin. She wondered then how he managed in the North and if the snow caused him to quake when the depths of winter was upon them, but shortly after, she realized she didn’t quite care. He’d made more than an ass of himself last they’d met and instead of inviting him to join her, she turned back toward the seamless gathering of stars and seawater, wishing for it to consume her.