with me for a lover, you don't need catastrophes; PHASE III

[Wrynn]

Oh look, oh my star is fading

If the world was trying to end back there on the beach, it's succeeded now.

Whereas before the earth was cracking and splitting, the seas boiling and the air salted with brimstone, here it is simply falling away, a symphony of fading, of death, syncopated to the symphony of a constant mechanical grinding (the Langoliers, though she has no concept of these things).

But none of that matters when she sees the mare.

She knows instantly (gail gail gail) and in her sweetness and exuberance, she never thinks that the mare might hesitate. She bounds up to her, injuries almost forgotten in the wake of her excitement. "Gail!" she touches the woman gently with her nose. Her voice is sweet, happy. "Let's go home." It is a gentle suggestion, warm and happy and sweet like Wrynn herself.

But then Gail speaks, and the little filly frowns. It hadn't occurred to her, young and innocent as she is, that the mare wouldn't want to. She remembers things then, how some of the mares of the jungle seem to fear what happens when they leave. How some of the horses in Beqanna seem so set in their ways. It is change, she decides, fear of change. They can't all be children like her, sweet and easy and happy to float as they will, embracing the twists in the stream with a sweet smile.

She touches the mare again with her nose, gently, reassuring. "Gail." she says again, gently, without impatience. "He sent us to find you." she explains, her small voice still so gentle. She is so small still, this little bay filly with the scraped knees and the burned barrel. "Look at all of us, all of these horses, we've come through time and space because he asked us to find you."

She pauses, letting the mare take it all in. "You say you were supposed to die here – both of you. But he didn't. He's still alive. That's how he sent us." Her voice is still gentle. "If he didn't die here, are you sure you're meant to die here? What if he changed his mind?" She pauses again. "If he didn't want you to come back, why send us? Why send all of us here just to watch you die?"

It is such a wrenching picture, this quiet voice, this battered filly, so young and innocent to have made it this far. Perhaps a filly more clever would play it up, would take the knife of her sweetness and youth and twist it in, using it in an attempt to spur Gail to action. But Wrynn isn't one for leverage; her sweetness and innocence are authentic. It's simply who she is.

She touches the woman with her nose again. "Gail, you are like nothing else he knows. You're the only one he can't read like a book, can't touch and manipulate into whatever he likes." she doesn't know where she's pulling the information, but as she speaks it she knows it's true. "You're the exception to all the rules that make up his life. You're the chink in his armor. And because of that, he needs you." the words are so soft, almost a whisper.

"Where we come from, the world isn't ending. You knew it once, back before you came here. It's Beqanna, and it’s thriving. It's where he is, waiting for you." another pause. "How long has it been since you've seen a forest, Gail? How long since you tasted grass? How long since you drank from a stream?" she is watching the woman carefully, her voice still impossibly sweet, her questions honest and innocent rather than driving at a point. "You can have that too, all of it."

"I know it's scary to change. I'd be scared too, if I'd been here as long as you have." It's been impossibly long, the little girl thinks, longer than her mother's been alive. Longer than any horse in Beqanna has been alive, quite possibly – except him. Always except him. "But he sent us here to get you. He said it'd be all right for you to come back. He's the one who brought you here, so who could know the rules better?" she looks Gail in the eye now, her question an earnest one.

She is silent for a moment, considering the world as it falls apart around them. "It's kind of fascinating, isn't it." she says, almost to herself, because it is. She is not the overly curious kind of filly, but even she can see a strange poetry in the way everything falls away. "But it will be here later too, you know. It's the end of the world – it will always be there. You can always come back to it. Maybe he'll come back with you."

Her gaze drifts back to Gail, her eyes a bright green, shockingly full of life in a sea of nothingness. "But right now, I think you should try coming back with us. There's a lot of world left, and it'll be both different and the same thanks to all the years. You'll be with him again, maybe with your children again." She pauses, smiling. "And if that doesn't work, you can always come back here. The world isn't going to stop ending just because you leave."

Wrynn looks back at the rest of them, then, all the horses who have come because he called them to save her - gail gail gail. Her smile falters and when she speaks her voice is quiet. "I'm also…not sure that we can leave without you." Her gaze shifts back to Gail. "I'd rather not be stuck here, at least not yet. Maybe when I'm old and done. But I'm not old and done, and I don't think you are." She pauses. "He said you're not." She smiles. "And he certainly isn't."

"Can we try?" she notices that Gail has not moved, not so much as a muscle, not since she first came into view. And with a filly's sweet enthusiasm she moves to place herself beside Gail, so that they might step forward together. "Let's try. Just a step. To see what happens."

wrynn