Andarin: The Mountains: the shark and the dandelion

It wasn't the first time in the last few months she had thought she had seen him. She is unaware of course that he did briefly return once and had been resigned to just thinking that her mind had created him as a cruel mirage as it has long since puzzled her as to why and where he just disappeared to. So when she catches a flash of something, someone, who bares a slight resemblance to him she simply sighs and instinctively turns to see the shape, the shadow of disappointment ready to swallow her whole again and taunt her with images of her absent friend. But this time the images didn't come. This time she had to step closer. If it was him, why had he now returned? Where had he gone? Why hadn't he said goodbye? Why had he left her alone?

She tried to force down the growing anger as she ventured closer to determine more clearly whether her eyes were playing tricks on her, the familiar wind surrounding her as she grew closer suggesting they weren't. It really was him? Was it really Shark? "Shark?" She hadn't realised she had spoken aloud, her thoughts still whirling around her mind like a whirlpool. He wasn’t the small fluffy colt who had played amongst the flowers and grasses with her - neither was she that small filly. But almost as soon as she saw him she felt like she was a relative newborn again playing in Desreal, his air kissing away the dandelion seeds from her eyelashes whilst her water cascaded from them like a gentle waterfall.

The questions flow like her own water in a mad rush to finally be answered, she's waited months to see him again, wondering where he was, what had happened to him and she can't seem to stop them from coming now he's finally here. "Where did you go? Why did you leave me? Where have you been all this time? Why has it taken you till now to come back? Why..." And then in a moment of horror she contemplates that he might not recognise her, to him she might just be a random young mare throwing questions into his face and so she whispers, "It's Dandelion, Shark. Your Dandelion..." Her muzzle coming to brush across his dark cheek to reassure herself mostly that she wasn't dreaming him, that he was real - though if she was dreaming then she never wanted to wake up. He was back and that was all that mattered.

IANTHE
I dream of a green garden where the sun feathers my face
like your once eager kiss.
Water III