Her father thrived in solitude.
Yseulte decayed.
Wilted, like a flower deprived of sunbeams.
And yet, Yseulte had never needed anyone else in her life but her father. While other foals played in the meadow, chasing minnows in the shallow pond, Yseulte would settle by Zjarri's side (never touching, for his skin burned like the sun on a smoldering summer day) beneath the willow trees and dream empty dreams. When dusk arrived on the horizon, sweet and cool, they would stir and wake. Mostly, they would simply count the stars. Silent and still as the stars overhead. Other times, on better days when he didn't hurt so much, Zjarri would teach her the web of constellations lacing across the sky like bright pearls. Pegasus here, the Lion there, and her favorite, the Never star.
The star that never moves.
It was her mother's star, he told her. Because her mother had been the only constant in his life. His rock. His guide. His light.
A sweet story, to be sure. But Zjarri never spoke of her mother again, and Yseulte learned to never ask.
The Never star.
Snowflakes drifted from the boughs over head, settling on her back and melting on her vapor breath. It was an uncomfortable sort of companionship, Yseulte thought, but she found she didn't mind so much. There had been a moment's hesitation, a fleeting silence, before the winged-mare complied and crunched through the snow after her. Yseulte smiled to herself. There were no words needed, between the two of them. But that might have been due to the fact Yseulte had no intentions of making small-chat, and the stranger probably had enough sense to keep her trap shut.
Yseulte twitched her ears in vague annoyance when a voice rang through the winter silence. A stranger, another winged-mare, emerged from the swirling fog. Two glittering amber jewels for eyes glowed brightly against the faded winter woods. And suddenly, there were stars. Bright and cold and beautiful.
Ice gripped her heart; it was suddenly very painful to draw breath, as if shards of glass were rattling around in her lungs. The memories left a bittersweet stain in her thoughts.
"The more the merrier," Yseulte said at last (although without much conviction in her voice), regaining some sense of reality and looking away from the constellations traced across the mare's night-like skin.
It's no wonder Yseulte never excelled at the very specific art of friend-making. Generally speaking, polite, chivalrous conversation was required in order to establish positive relationships. Now, offending people, well, that's a very different story. She was her father's daughter, after all.
After the third interruption, Yseulte gave up all hopes of clearing the woodlands before nightfall. Her penetrating gaze fixed on a winged bay figure—an impressively tall figure. His brown skin was the color of course tree bark dusted with snowfall, and his eyes were even darker.
Yseulte glanced at the two mares at her side. She briefly wondered what the pale mare thought of their newest companion, for the white pegasus had previously hinted her contempt the opposite sex. Yseulte had no quarrels with stallions—only with silly boys who thought themselves men.
Yseulte snorted softly at his light-hearted comment. "In circles," she replied dryly, though from her bland expression, it could be assumed she wasn't as amused by their marching colorful parade as he. Woodlands were foreign and unfamiliar to Yseulte, who was accustomed to wide, spacious grounds that stretched on until even the boundary between earth and sky blurred. "And at this rate, no where."
The fourth was a mere presence lingering on the sidelines; a shadow. An afterthought. She noticed him then, not because of the strangeness of his face, but because he seemed familiar to her in a way these other three strangers never would. She felt naked compared to these winged creatures; barren like the winter trees around them threading into the gray sky like bleached bones. They were one and the same, this stranger and she.
Beauty and the beast.
Her only greeting to the golden bystander was her unwavering eye contact, before glancing at each member of their little circus. They were a strange company, to be sure.
"As much fun as follow the leader is, I say we play another game."
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