Ruske;;

      I had agreed, in some paroxysm of good will, to escort the damp mare home. To be perfectly honest, I doubted after only a short time the worth of that mission. She reacted with quick severity to her brief dip in the icy river, babbling senselessly in response to even the most mundane questions. Perhaps she would die before we even moved far beyond the meadow… But having taken responsibility, I could not justify leaving her side until I saw her certainly dead or within the care of another – capable – healer. Unsure myself of the direction in which our destination lay, I attempted to guide her north – approximately – and supposed we may either find her beach, or find the World’s Edge and its capable assortment of mares.

      The scent of the sea pinched my nostrils first. I heard it distantly when my ears came forward: a muffled roar, familiar and yet terrible, all the same. I had little acquaintance with the water, but I glanced to the mare at the sound, hoping perhaps to see her roused. The length of our journey should have seen her drier if not dry, I thought, though I offered my side to her should she require support any longer. The effects of cold lingered even after all traces of harm had otherwise been scrubbed from the body – this I knew as an after-effect of trial and error. ”We may be near out destination yet,” I spoke aloud, shaking the worst of the concern from my head. I hardly knew her – why did I persist in caring so? ”Does it seem familiar to you?” In all honesty, the walk was longer than I may have hoped, and the weight of guilt gnawed here and there on my conscious – that I had been irresponsible, should have taken other steps. Different steps. Should have attempted something more back in the meadow… My tail twitched, irritated. Better if we had never met, at all.

      I left behind the trees at last for sandy soil, and before my eyes that vast expanse of blue: the sea. Something in me shivered and quailed in sight of its magnificence, but beyond that, I remarked with some satisfaction the sun felt warmer as it reflected off the pale earth. I stepped forward, blinking up and down the beach. ”Is this your home?” It smelled of no herd in particular; dismay wormed into my brain. Perhaps the salt obscured my senses; perhaps I was merely tired and wished to be in my own home, eating. I swung my head around at last in search of my companion, anxious – not for the first time.

      I realized, with a sharp pang of shock, I had never even bothered to learn her name.

Ruske;;

      I studied the mare carefully as she first stepped down the beach. Still weak, she wobbled like a foal; carefully I followed after her, my hooves shifting over the warm sand. I judged the beach to be safe, at least; casting a curious glance to either side, I hoped against my rising skepticism to see some herd mate in the distance, ready to whisk her off, never to hear from me again. No one appeared; I began to despair. In her confusion, she steered me not toward home but to some wild land, an empty place belonging to no one. I blinked after her in some dismay. Perhaps her home, in a past life, had been similar. Pity grew in my heart, entirely unwelcome.

      Gladly, I noticed her gait became steadier with every step. Perhaps the cold had worn off; perhaps it was not so terrible as I initially perceived. Withholding my sigh of relief for the moment, I merely paced nearby, prepared to offer support should she require such again – though hoping against the possibility. Surprise and alarm surged through my veins in equal measure as her head dropped to the sand, rubbing like a feral cat the whole expanse of her body, until she laid upon the ground. ”Home…” I blinked; what could I do to intervene?

      Clearing my throat, I stepped nearer, ears twitching. She spoke of sleep; I knew she ought not, if she still suffered the effects of cold, but if she were truly tired…Troubled, I hesitated but a moment. ”You should…” But I had no heart to rouse her, nor deny her. I prepared to wake her in a few moments’ time, thus allowing her body the healing benefit of rest but ensuring she did not slip from slumber into a more permanent state. I supposed the sand might do as my tattered hide could not, and soak some sunlight through her skin.

      Resigned, then, I nodded and stood over the mare. ”I will stand watch for you.” What could I do if anyone intending harm arrived? Little; nothing. But perhaps the sight of me would warn them off. Perhaps… nothing would happen at all. I turned my gaze to the distant sighing of waves and breathed a sigh, myself. What a strange place.

Ruske;;

      Standing guard proved uncomfortable, at best. No one approached us; indeed, no other soul stirred down the beach. Only the raucous creaking of gulls filled my ears. Idly, I peered up at them, ears sweeping back. Perhaps in another lifetime, I would have considered the arrangement idyllic. We stood – lay – quite alone, teased by the ocean breeze. If only I knew anything about the mare… But I did not, thrust into the burden of her company by circumstance, and nothing more.

      Time passed, and I observed no more convulsive shivering beneath her skin. Instead, she kicked as if caught in the throes of some dream – good or bad. One eye cocked in her direction, I wondered what it was. Where had she come from? Not here… I knew that, certain the barren stretch of land made home to no one. Has she once known the Moonlit Tides, as I had? Or some other distant shore…? My eyes fell on the strange collection of shells woven into her mane – unnoticed in our previous anxiety. Strange.

      As I watched, something of her shifted. Her body tensed, lungs gasping fitfully from the natural throes of sleep. A nightmare. For a moment, I glanced across the shore, eyes measuring the cool play of waves farther down. I might leave… She may not even remember me. I owed her nothing, after all – had done more than any obligation might demand. But I glanced again at the stranger, small and to all appearances frightened. With a sigh, I reached down to nudge her gently with my nose, hoping for no violent retaliation.

      "You’re dreaming." The words left my chest dryly, not exactly free of mirth. When had I been reduced to playing babysitter like this…? But it was nearly pleasant, alone with the sand and the sea and no obligation, at all – acting only because I wished to.

Ruske;;

      ”Deagor?” She spoke a name unknown to me, but wakefulness came over the mare by degrees. Uneasy, I sidled back. ”I don’t…” But caught in the throes of some dream or hallucination, she continued on, distress evident in the brilliant blue of her eyes. I stepped back again as she shuddered upward, her expression rent by tears…

      It must have been a very bad dream.

      Unwilling to turn tail and run like a frightened child from the weeping mare, I merely stiffened as she drew nearer, my own hide flinching away from her touch. We had been entirely too intimate already; I felt patience rapidly reach its end, snap like an overstressed tendon, and recoil hard against my thoughts. …our baby is dead… Phoenix help me, consoling mares with real dead foals proved difficult enough – was I so wretched as to deserve fake ones, as well?

      ”Fortunate, I think, we do not have a child,” I answered dryly. Craning my neck, I peered down at her, cocking the warmer colors of my darker eye at the mare’s pale face. She no longer felt terribly cold, I noted distantly. Instead, she had evidently suffered some psychotic break, and forgotten the circumstances, the manner of our meeting.

      ”My name is Ruske,” I added, gently as I could manage. ”You are in Helovia, on the beach… do you remember?” I prayed she might stop her tears, at least, for whatever absent baby she imagined or remembered. ”May I know your name?”

Ruske;;

      Some realization of sense appeared to hit the mare; she reversed direction quickly, drawing away as curiously as she had approached. I watched her go without comment, aware that, had I made such a mistake myself, I would likely handle it less gracefully and wish no attention on the subject. ”I suppose so…” her voice broke the uncomfortable silence between us, solemn for the first time. Something akin to pity moved in my breast, but ignoring the sensation I resigned myself to merely observing. I knew of nothing comforting to say; my authority in such a situation had ever been tenuous at best, and only begun to deteriorate with time. Perhaps I should have left when the chance presented itself… A weary sigh gave the only voice to my thoughts.

      The mare appeared to come back to herself, whatever true intelligence lay under her skull withdrawing and turning away from me. She watched the sea; I read sadness in her, lingering and distant – a feeling I recognized, though likely for far different reasons. I glanced away, measuring the pale color of the sand. Dead children are not a thing to be shared with strangers… Again, I counted myself lucky to be in the position I was in, if I must find myself in such a situation at all – far better to be the ill-prepared comforter than the one in need of comfort. My own bad memories were buried somewhere long ago, not for the ears of others… I regretted, on her behalf, my inability to forget the entire affair.

      She spoke again, remembering, and slowly my ears moved forward to cup the words. ”Caves? No, but I have heard stories of a… darkness in this land. I arrived after its banishment, through no skill of my own.” Perhaps her vulnerable state left me candid, easier in the company of one disadvantaged than I might be with someone more proud. Perhaps the events of the day merely wore me down. Whatever the reason, I listened without much judgment, feeling rather that in some small way, I owed her the rest of my patience.

      ”You fell from a star?” This part of her story still jarred my thoughts, and disbelieving I cocked my head. ”That is…” Impossible, spoke my instinct. Improbable, I corrected a moment later, accounting for the existence of gods and goddesses, beings only known to me in the truest sense for a brief time. Perhaps she did fall from a star. Perhaps my former home was swallowed up by ghosts, as well, and here the both of us divest of our former paths. Happier paths.

      I flinched when she began to yell, muscles tensing though I never truly expected harm from her. The noise still excited old instincts, fears once kept honed to razor sharpness, and I turned to stare with my head up, breath rushing into my lungs. ”I do not want to start over again!” she added, and I felt an odd rush of sympathy, and something else – some shivering thing that began in my chest and erupted out – a hoarse laugh, genuine perhaps for all I hardly expected mirth in such a place. But I did laugh, commiserating at least with this sentiment, so thoroughly childish and so thoroughly true I could only agree. ”It does grow tiresome,” I murmured when the laughter died. My own gaze stirred out toward the ocean, that element of my kind which I had always shunned, judging it unknown. ”But what is the alternative? Death?” I had attempted that – or perhaps better said, I had allowed it to occur. But Evangeline had stopped me… Evangeline. A frown crawled slowly over my face, the old solemnity returning. I never felt happy for long. Never.

      I blinked at the mare once more when she apologized. Mermaid – she had told me that. A strange name, but I stored it away, certain at least I would recognize her again if we did meet in the future. ”You need not apologize,” I answered, a low sigh breezing out with the words. My tail twitched, unhappily. ”I have ever made my living tending the ill. And I have found myself in stranger circumstances than these, before… Though I think perhaps caution is in order when you find yourself in the cold season again.” Something like a wry smile twitched at my mouth, but failed quite to form. ”Still,” I added, a touch ingratiated by her changed demeanor, ”I am rarely treated so courteously after the fact. It is a pleasure to meet you, I think. I’ve known few others here who truly seemed as… ill at ease as I sometimes feel.” I glanced away as I spoke, uncertain as to what I truly wanted to convey. Perhaps I only wanted someone else to understand – I missed the old home. Missed Sinn. Missed never needing to watch my own step… I was not made for a land like this, for a new life again and again. I grew weary of making mistakes and weary of shepherding the foolish young.