As the morning slid toward afternoon, Glinda seemed to once again get wandering hooves. She inched closer and closer to the tents, and more than one human stopped to take a look at her.
In some ways, Glinda was a stunning mare. Her chestnut coat was so mixed with white that she appeared almost pink in the light, and her flaxen mane fell nearly past her shoulders in silky strands. But the things that stuck out the most weren’t worth admiring.
Her scars. Her wounds. Her skinny hips and the fear in her eyes. Elphaba wondered what the humans saw. The first set of traits...or the second? And which did they care about more?
It irked her beyond imagine to see Glinda going toward the camp when she had every opportunity to run far far away. An opportunity Elphaba certainly would not have squandered.
At some point, Fiyero stepped out of the crowd, talking softly to Glinda in words Elphaba was unable to hear. When he turned to get back to his chores, Glinda tagged along.
She moved carefully, following the path Fiyero took through the camp but steering well clear of any humans. Elphaba watched her through the rails, ears turning with each step. The mare’s hooves made no sound in the grass. She kept a length between herself and Fiyero at all times— never close enough to touch. Always angled, always ready to pivot away.
Fiyero didn’t seem to mind his new shadow. He glanced back sometimes, not with the sharp look of a man about to snap, but with the easy half-smile of someone being accompanied by a friend.
The other Vinkun men noticed too. One of them—tall, tan, and with a deep burgundy shirt on—called out in their own language, words Elphaba didn’t know. Fiyero shot him a look that made the man laugh, and then the teasing rolled from mouth to mouth.
Elphaba caught one word repeated often enough to learn it: Makístala, they called her.
It fit in a way Elphaba didn’t like— soft, prey-shaped, and skittish as a creature who knew exactly how much it weighed between a predator’s teeth.
Through that day and the next, the pattern held. Glinda followed Fiyero everywhere. She stopped when Fiyero stopped, but if he turned toward her, she skittered back, head down, nostrils blowing. The line between them was invisible but real— and if he crossed it, she retreated to the corral, sometimes standing just close enough that Elphaba could feel the heat of her through the fence.
On the third day, Fiyero turned toward her with something different in his step. Intent. His hands were empty, his voice low enough that it didn’t carry far. Elphaba caught fragments.
“…that rope’s no good…rubbing you raw…just let me see…”
Glinda’s head tipped sideways, eyes locked on his hands. He came at an angle, not head-on, palms shown, his steps measured. He didn’t crowd her. The air between them seemed to thicken with every breath and every step.
The fact that Glinda’s back was to a tent was not an accident.
“Easy,” Fiyero murmured. “Easy, Little Rabbit.”
For a moment, it looked like Glinda might hold her ground and allow this to happen. Elphaba leaned forward with baited breath. Glinda raised her head a fraction, one ear turned toward the human, her muscles tense beneath her quivering pink coat.
Then Fiyero’s fingers just barely brushed the edge of the halter, and the spell broke. Glinda leapt sideways, spun, and trotted straight for the corral. She stopped just outside the gate, sides heaving, rope halter very much intact. This close up, Elphaba could see the harsh red rubs it was leaving against the skin of her cheeks and nose.
Fiyero stood where she’d left him, hands falling back to his sides. The look on his face wasn’t anger— it was something quieter, heavier. He nodded to himself, accepting the loss, but there was an aching sadness in his eyes.
“All right,” he said, barely above the breeze. “We’ll do it another way.”
He walked off without looking back, but Elphaba saw the determined set of his shoulders. She didn’t know what “another way” meant. She didn’t like the sound of it. Glinda stayed close to the corral for the rest of the day, her shadow overlapping Elphaba’s in the afternoon sun.