i know i'm not the center of the universe
-but you keep spinning 'round me just the same
Though he knows that Kylin’s family is long gone from the shore, Ivar still watches the lake. It is always from a distance, always from high in the mountains where he does not have to cross the border. The piebald colt does nothing more than watch; his pale legs remain perfectly still. There is longing in his eyes though, a desire to break away from the safety of neutral land and head to the water.
He’s turned away a half-dozen times already, but today he is not able to stop himself.
Rather than return to the familiar forest, Ivar heads down the slope in the pre-dawn light. The water is more inviting with every stride he takes forward, and by the time he touches the lake he is at a full gallop. The nearly-yearling doesn’t stop when he reaches the water’s edge, but rather leaps forward, diving into the deeper water immediately.
Ivar does not surface as a horse should, but rather swims deeper. The water that is so crystal clear during the day is black in the time before dawn. Still, he can feel the fish fleeing from his presence with perfectly clarity and knows that this place is a god one. He decides to stay below. The stones beneath his hooves are no different than those above water, and he moves along the bottom of the lake as easily as the average horse through a meadow. The last time he was down here was months ago. That had been a shorter venture; he was just learning to swim back then. Today he is perfectly at ease, swallowing the water and tasting the various mountain streams that feed water to the lake.
The tobiano colt loses track of time. He probably dozes off in the rippling current, but the passing of time doesn’t concern him. Ivar is young, free of responsibilities, and at the very top of this aquatic food chain. He doesn’t have a care in the word.
It’s not until he notices the light in the water is changing that he considers surfacing. The darkness is becoming light, a soft golden glow in the water around him. The sun is rising, he realizes, and the water is no longer safely dark. He’s crossed the lake in his time below, so when he clambers up on the shore it is on the opposite side of the valley than he’d entered. His breathing isn’t labored, but he does shiver uncomfortably as the water drips off him and steam rises from his coat and into the cool winter morning.
It takes him a moment to realize that he isn’t alone.
There’s a filly at the water’s edge, one that’s not too far in age from Ivar. That puts him at immediate ease, and he smiles warmly.
“Hey.” Says the young colt with a boldness that challenges the seeming oddness of his sudden arrival on the shore and his sodden appearance. He’s grinning easily, as though that is something that happens frequently (and really, it does). “I’m Ivar. Who’re you?”
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