A Horse with no Rider
In the pale blue light, several figures made their way towards to the gate. Yaheera, tribe leader since the death of Anya, was the first to reach it, with Octavia not far behind. Tall and broad in stature, Octavia had mistaken Yaheera for a man at their first meeting. However, the leader's intimidating posture was balanced by a disposition which was slow to anger and a cunning tactical wit. With all of these features combined, Yaheera had proven herself a leader to be reckoned with. Now, she placed a calming hand on the watcher's shoulder and spoke in a gentle voice: "Show me what you see." The pubescent boy of eleven or twelve pointed into the mist and Octavia's eyes followed. At first she saw nothing but then, out of the tree-line, loped a black horse. Octavia peered closer; there were no distinguishing marks on the animal or visible injuries. There was certainly no saddle, although most Grounders chose to ride bareback. All that she could make out was the covering around the animal's head: small bones intertwined with red cloth. She heard Yaheera inhale sharply, "It's the mark of The Commander." Then the tribe leader gave the order: "Open the gate!"
By now the first shards of light were piercing through the sky. Octavia inhaled deeply; dawn and, by the looks of it, a beautiful day. In front of her Yaheera and her trusted circle of warriors were inspecting the animal in the center of the settlement whilst other Grounders got on with the day ahead, pausing once in a while to glance at the activity surrounding the horse. Although Octavia could sense an atmosphere of growing concern, her thoughts turned to Lincoln: his eyes, his touch. She should check on him, she thought, and, turning her heel to walk towards their hut, she found herself scooped up in strong arms. "Lincoln!" she exclaimed softly, gazing down at his face. He eased her gently down for a long kiss. "You left me," he whispered nuzzling her ear.
"I didn't want to wake you", Octavia replied.
"You left me," Lincoln reiterated, more insistent. Octavia's pulse raced at the feeling of his lips on her neck, but she drew away and looked him in the eye: "Lincoln, I am never leaving you again." Her reward was a broad smile and a kiss more intense than the first.
"Lincoln, what do you make of this?" Yaheera was suddenly at their side, a third party invading an intimate moment. Octavia blushed as they broke apart, but Lincoln and Yaheera were unperturbed. Love, mating, birth, sacrifice, war, death – these were everyday acts understood and shared by the community. Life on planet Earth was too unpredictably short to waste much time with formalities.
Lincoln and Octavia followed Yaheera to the tired mare, now steadily drinking from a bucket of water being held by the same young boy who had announced its arrival. The boy glanced at Octavia and smiled shyly. She returned the gesture in suit. Lincoln patted the horse's flank, observing closely. He turned his attention to the bone covering and his gaze narrowed.
"Definitely the Commander, but…" Yaheera's voice trailed off as Lincoln removed something from the animal's matted mane. Octavia saw a metal chain of some sort roughly six inches long. It made a noise as Lincoln turned it over in his hands and Octavia saw crude shapes, circles perhaps, rub together as he held it towards the morning light. Yaheera's gaze turned from the chain to Lincoln and, as their eyes met, Octavia saw something pass between them which she did not understand.
"What is it?" Octavia asked, looking at Lincoln. He tore his gaze from Yaheera to the woman he loved. His face was set in hard lines. "What?" she repeated. Lincoln sighed and an expression crossed his face which she could not read.
"It's Luna," he replied.