[This post is from Marin’s point of view.]
I swallowed once, then again, eyes fluttering shut for just a few seconds. I struggled to regulate my breathing, panic starting to well up unbidden. This wasn’t like me, not at all—not anymore, not these days. I had to keep my shit together. There wasn’t a choice.
The images bubbled up whether I wanted them to or not.
They weren’t what I expected, though—not what I’d braced myself for.
We rode on horseback together, Thom and I, our knees practically touching. I felt a little light-headed and he looked a little pale, but otherwise neither of us seemed to be suffering from much more than a few more lines, a few more scars, a few more gray hairs. He was saying something I wasn’t really listening to as I studied him. The path we followed was narrow, but well-worn, sunlight slanting through the trees and a breeze worrying hairs free of my braid. It was quiet and comfortable and I felt so content that it almost made me ache because there was one thing missing.
Then he looked at me.
My eyes stung as the vision dissolved. I’d seen things like it before, but never quite like that—and I was always afraid. I was always afraid that somehow I would lose him, that somehow the visions would be wrong and something awful would happen.
The future was never fully written, no matter what our friends thought, no matter how reassuring they found what Thom and I saw—or didn’t find it, as sometimes the case was. They took our visions as something that would be because we’d so often been right. There was going to come a moment where we were wrong, though, and badly wrong.
As often as I lied to myself about it, nothing was ever certain.