#hengroen

She was a tiny little thing, squealing and splashing in the shallows near Sròine where anyone could see her. Niseag watched her from the deep water, barely a shimmer against the opaque water.

“Niseag.” Both the foal and the serpent beyond startled at their name. On the shore, a white mare flickered in and out of existence, bright and brief as glancing sunlight on the loch.

Niseag slipped into the shallows and a stallion rose from the surf, dark as peat. The foal squealed and dashed away, all knees and flying hooves, long limbed and new. She hid behind her mother as he approached. The mare moved to greet him.

“You called, Llamrei,” he murmured, touching his nose to hers. They shared the sharp-sweet air between them.

“I knew you were listening,” she whickered, brushing her muzzle along his neck to scratch his withers. He reached to do the same for her as the dusky foal wriggled into the space between them, fear forgotten as she demanded their attention. Reluctantly, he withdrew and stood patiently as she reared, knobby knees against his chest as she stretched to touch his muzzle. Seemingly satisfied, she dropped back to all four hooves and turned a circle on the spot.

“Energetic, isn’t she,” he said as the little one pranced back to the water’s edge, chasing the lapping water.

“She has that of her father,” Llamrei replied, standing shoulder to shoulder with him, watching her little one play.

“I hear you keep strange company these days.”

“That is a word for it.”

“Where are you heading to?”

“Who said I was not stopping here, with you?”

He ducked his head, and tucked the private wish that that were true back into the tide-beat of his heart.

“If you were stopping here, you would have come to me below, not waited for me at Sròine, no matter how often I travel by here.”

He watched her eyes turn westward, and sighed. “You are for the sea.”

“Only for her.”

“For her?” He looked at the tiny foal, incredulous. “Would you feed her to the Cailleach? She’ll never survive the first storm.”

“Never!” Llamrei snapped at him, lashing out with a forehoof. “She goes to her father, as she should! The safest place in the world for her is with him, or I would never let her go!”

He backed down before her hooves and flashing teeth, rightly cowed.

“I should not have said it. I’m sorry.”

The little foal squealed and ran back from the water, dancing around the both of them, coaxing them to play with her. The muffled sunlight glinted off her coat like shards of stars through cloud cover.

“Whose is she?”

Llamrei kissed her little one on the nose and sent her off again. She didn’t answer him, but looked out west where the salt scent of the ocean drifted upstream.

“Llamrei?”

“She belongs to the deep.”

He watched the tiny foal and tried to see the touch of Lir in her. She looked more a creature of air than water, but weren’t the two entwined in all of them? It was less than a breath of thought for Niseag to wear wings instead of fins or hooves. Perhaps the little one would breathe away her form as easily when she grew. She had a Trickster touch about her.

“She seems no deeper than us,” he said, testing.

“Illusions are a skill in her blood.”

“Blood is less than water for us.”

“Not for her.”

“Who is he, Llamrei?” he asked again, turning to face her. “The way you talk I fear you’ve brought a godling to my doorstep. The gods don’t sow their oats in the North as they do in the Cradle Sea. Divinity touches very few.”

The silence stretched between them, broken only by the gentle murmurs of the loch and splash of horseplay in the shallows.

“I knew him as Léttfeti,” she finally answered him, “but in the sunlight he casts a shadow big enough to engulf the world.”

“A God indeed,” he said, and shook away the jealousy that bit at him like flies at his nose and ears. “How will you find him, with only an untrue name and a vague direction? Surely, if he is a god he must know of his child. If he has not come for her by now, why should he if you cry for him on the shore?”

He probably deserved to be bitten for that, but Llamrei stood beside him in silence while she pondered that. The only movement in her was the twitch of her tail, and her eyes as they followed her foal.

“What if he doesn’t come?” she whispered, and it worried him that it didn’t seem to have occurred to her until now. What kind of desperate love would give her so much faith in this absent god to recognise his child? Gods were hardly known for owning up to their crops.

“You could stay here,” he offered. “Stay with me like you did before. The loch is surely big enough to hold the three of us.” He nodded at her foal where she danced in the shallows. “Your little one is already well at home.”

Quieter, he added. “And I see she is named for someone dear. Or have you chosen to curse your own with an ill favoured name?”

“Never ill favoured,” Llamrei said, “and always dear, but perhaps not as you would have me. Not in this time.”

He sighed. “No, I suppose not.”

They stood again in silence, burdened by questions and the weight of their shared history, looking for answers that simply were not there.

“What if...” he ventured, and paused to gain the courage to be audacious a final time. “What if you left her with me while you venture to find your Léttfeti? The loch is safe, as I have said, and though we may not love as we once did, there is love enough between us for you to trust me with what is yours.”

“You know that such an offer will do you no good in changing that,” Llamrei said, sharp as a prow.

He had to laugh. “You think I’d offer to look after your child while you chase your Léttfeti so you would love me like you used to? That would be a very poor way of achieving such an end.”

“Besides,” he nudged her nose with his, and whickered because there had never been a horse capable of a wistful smile, “I have your love already, though it has changed its shape since last time. It would be pure greed to ask for more.”

Niseag the younger took that moment to run back over to them again, prancing about their feet and screeching her enthusiasm in shattering notes.

“You’re quite the talker, little one,” Hengroen said, dipping his head to her level and huffing at her. “I’m sure you don’t have that of your mother either. Your father must be chattier than me.”

“Unlikely,” Llamrei muttered beside him.

Little Niseag whickered like she was laughing, and trotted off along the bank to explore the range within her mother’s sight.

“So...” Hengroen said as they watched. “Will you be going together to the sea?”

She was a tiny little thing, squealing and splashing in the shallows near Sròine where anyone could see her. Niseag watched her from the deep water, barely a shimmer against the opaque water.

“Niseag.” Both the foal and the serpent beyond responded. On the shore, a white mare flickered in and out of existence, bright and brief as glancing sunlight on the loch.

Niseag slipped into the shallows and a stallion rose from the surf, dark as peat. The foal squealed and dashed away, all knees and flying hooves, long limbed and new. She hid behind her mother as he approached. The mare moved to greet him.

“You called, Llamrei,” he murmured, touching his nose to hers. They shared the sharp-sweet air between them. "Or have you given my name to your little one?"

“Both," she whickered, brushing her muzzle along his neck to scratch his withers. "I knew you were listening.”  

He reached to do the same for her as the dusky foal wriggled into the space between them, fear forgotten as she demanded their attention. Reluctantly, he withdrew and stood patiently as she reared, knobby knees against his chest as she stretched to touch his muzzle. Seemingly satisfied, she dropped back to all four hooves and turned a circle on the spot.

“Energetic, isn’t she,” he said as the little one pranced back to the water’s edge, chasing the lapping water.

“She has that of her father,” Llamrei replied, standing shoulder to shoulder with him, watching her little one play.

“I hear you keep strange company these days.”

 “That is a word for it.”

“Where are you heading to?”

“Who said I was not stopping here, with you?”

He ducked his head, and tucked the private wish that that were true back into the tide-beat of his heart.

“If you were stopping here, you would have come to me below, not waited for me at Sròine, no matter how often I travel by here.”

He watched her eyes turn westward, and sighed. “You are for the sea.”

“Only for her.”

“For her?” He looked at the tiny foal, incredulous. “Would you feed her to the Cailleach? She’ll never survive the first storm.”

“Never!” Llamrei snapped at him, lashing out with a forehoof. “She goes to her father, as she should! The safest place in the world for her is with him, or I would never let her go!”

He backed down before her hooves and flashing teeth, rightly cowed.

“I should not have said it. I’m sorry.”

The little foal squealed and ran back from the water, dancing around the both of them, coaxing them to play with her. The muffled sunlight glinted off her coat like shards of stars through cloud cover.

“Whose is she?”

Llamrei kissed her little one on the nose and sent her off again. She didn’t answer him, but looked out west where the salt scent of the ocean drifted upstream.

“Llamrei?”

“She belongs to the deep.”

He watched the tiny foal and tried to see the touch of Lir in her. She looked more a creature of air than water, but weren’t the two entwined in all of them? It was less than a breath of thought for Niseag to wear wings instead of fins or hooves. Perhaps the little one would breathe away her form as easily when she grew. She had a Trickster touch about her.

“She seems no deeper than us,” he said, testing.

“Illusions are a skill in her blood.”

“Blood is less than water for us.”

“Not for her.”

“Who is he, Llamrei?” he asked again, turning to face her. “The way you talk I fear you’ve brought a godling to my doorstep. The gods don’t sow their oats in the North as they do in the Cradle Sea. Divinity touches very few.”

The silence stretched between them, broken only by the gentle murmurs of the loch and splash of horseplay in the shallows.

“I knew him as Léttfeti,” she finally answered him, “but in the sunlight he casts a shadow big enough to engulf the world.”

A memory rose to the surface of his mind. Conversations in the dark. A voice as immense as the western ocean contained within a form who threw a shadow under the moonlight that measured in furlongs.

“You foaled with the World Serpent.”