The stallion closes his amber lamplights. Vision has done him no good in this endeavour. He couldn’t see into the thick black even if Noor came to his side. The mountain had always been a devil’s advocate, pushing people to their limits and whispering secrets that the stone kept close to it’s pale breast. Cold, ruthless. It was the very thing that Gareth had sworn that he would protect her from. The mountains can be devious, deceptive. Those stones could have come from miles off, tumbling down, down, down. If she had been there, she could be well gone before he had even the heart to speak out to her. Salome had always been a nimble creature, and it was something that he only faintly envied. His girth, though sturdy and reliable, could not maneuver the peaks as easily as she could. Or at least, as easily as he could remember. Memories are often rose tinted, glittering things taken from reality and placed upon a pedestal.
A shuffle in the treeline, the shadows moving like ink. He hears the motion more than he sees it, his lids sliding open to stare at the harsh ground. He thinks he hears the flutter of lyrics, but he can’t be sure. The stallion strains to hear again, and he misses it, capturing only the faintest wisp of sound. It speaks to him of regret, though if that is merely his own emotion or that of the mountain he is unsure.
Noor watches from behind, eyes locked onto the creature that torments his friend. Even if Gareth cannot see her, the elk knows she is there. Why would she come, after all this time? Why would she come just to lurk and dangle just outside of his reach? But the stag knows why. Because she is a shadow of her former self. Her visit is a selfish reason. But again, so is Gareth’s. The elk shuffles his split daggers, shifting his weight as he follows her fluid movements. The shadow, so delicate, moves around her old companion, skirting him as close as she may dare. The stag knows that she is watching him, a prey aware that a predator knows he is there. He would not stop her. It was not his place to interfere, and he understood that. He would be there to help the stallion pick up the pieces of his broken heart. The stag felt a pang of regret strike his breast. Perhaps he should not have drawn attention to this ghost from their past. But perhaps he, too, missed her.
Gareth catches but a glimpse, but surely it is her. He would know those rose-coloured orbs anywhere. Those galaxies that he wishes every day could swallow him whole. The soft pools that would sparkle when she laughed and danced in the firelight and brought him warmth with nothing more but a glance. But they are hollow now. Empty things, except for a deep sorrow. And then she is gone, fading back to the darkness from whence she came.
The stallion slowly brings himself back to full height, staring after his beloved. His heart aches, and in the distance the lonely howl of a wolf rings through the mountain tops, mourning for him. "Salome," he whispers to the darkness. "Come..." he trails off, the thought lost and hanging in the air, but the intent clear as any.
Come home.
