where i go i just don't know; any

[Ygritte]

BETTER BEWARE, I GO BUMP IN THE NIGHT
DEVIL-MAY-CARE WITH A LUST FOR LIFE

The meadow was a land filled with memories. He haunted her still, the wild scent of sandalwood and patchouli taunting her mind, crippling her heart. The cage locked and the key discarded long ago. Ygritte had blamed herself. Perhaps she had been unfair too, demanding for his happiness in turn for his life. But in the end she was not enough for him.

He drifted away until she could no longer smell him on her skin, till the only thing that help conjure his memory was that of their child. The girl had grown to that of a leggy and wild yearling. Mandan would have been proud of his nomadic daughter and her restless spirit.

But now, she finds herself in the meadow. The bay form drifting like water logged wood on the ocean edge. No set destination or reason but just to simply feel the touch of the autumn chill on her body. Honey tinted pools moving over nameless faces, returning greetings with the nod of her flower crowned poll as tiny wild flowers spouted at her feet with each hoof fall. Ygritte did not fancy the drab of autumn so the touch of greenery and flora at her feet was a result of this.

Ygritte moves away from the courting couples, eager and overzealous. There was peace in the solitude of being alone and disconnected at times and perhaps that is why she is here. The scent of estrus was thick and heavy so when the permanence of sandalwood and patchouli twines through the fog of heat, the mare snaps in the direction of which it drifted. Lids widen slightly as her body instinctively is turning, seeking. It had been so long since she had smelled his phantom scent. Achingly, the woman moves towards what she knows subconsciously where it will lead. Fear leaps first then excitement then back again.

As though floating, limbs tear the bay and salmon form across the land. She must see if he is really here time. The horns appear over the crest of a small embankment and she knows. She knows! Slick with sweat and on wobbling legs does the form finally halt and begin a slow descent down the grounds edge but before she can even finish the trek there is another. A small black mare approaching him, talking (though from her place she can not hear them) and the smile that had started to curl her lips, his name that was about to be called from her mouth escapes in barely a whisper. Confusion and wetness coat the light amber eyes as her jaw falls slightly agape and the last bits of grass withers and dies at her feet. Her mind screams at her to move, go, do something but she can not. She is paralyzed and stricken with pain, the clench of her iron clad heart finally crushed to nothing but dust and bits of debris.

Finally...finally things start to work again. Feeling enters her legs once more, the fog clears her mind even as the tears spill down the russet cheeks, dampening them to a bloodwood finish. Seemingly with all the weight of Beqanna, the woman straightens herself and forces herself to move.

Away, away, away.

She tries to melt, disappear, blend back from where she came. Had he noticed her? Scented her? Her stomach is sick and her head is pounding. The flower crown she wore had long fallen off during her sprint but her salmon hued tresses were tangled with flower petals and bits of ivy. The trickle of tears has fully dampened her cheeks, Ygritte bit down in effort to muffle the small whelps that were now threatening to escape as she whimpered her sobs.

Ygritte.