husky's ramblings

[husky.]

"This is the last straw. It's one thing to learn how to unlock a stable door or sneak into the feed room for a treat, but this... Normal horses don't do this. Normal horses crave food, attention, companionship - not things!"

Well, that's what Klepto's owner exclaimed aloud to him, anyway.

He had a bad case of the "stealies", as a kid had called it one day. His condition was simple and unproblematic in his own eyes, yet it was terribly so for everyone around him. The urge to take just overwhelmed him at times, and it was a well-known fact at the barn by this point. Klepto had been stealing for a long time, ever since he was a wee foal, and he couldn't imagine a life any different. He was able to grasp the concept of stealing and its implications, that it was generally frowned upon, blah blah, but he didn't personally have any notions of stopping. He might even be helping others, if you look at it in a certain light - if Klepto stole your precious item, you obviously didn't lock it up well enough. As well as this, you could rest assured that if it was in Klepto's possession it wouldn't be lost, now would it? It was like... safekeeping. Yes, that's what it was. Safekeeping.

The heavy barn door slid shut, enclosing the sleepy horses inside like a big safe cocoon. It was a cocoon from which Klepto would soon break free, emerging not unlike a butterfly into the mild summer night, the bolts and latches designed to lock him away a mere inconvenience to his forthcoming journey. Vastly different from the naive butterfly, however, Klepto would escape with not a purpose in mind. He had no need for food tonight, nor any desire for neither mare nor friend. He rarely made purposeful moves except those that enabled his wandering, and tonight was not much different from any other night. There was no nefarious plan, no ulterior motives, no grand scheme. Not even a 'method to his madness', as some speculated. Klepto would just escape, and let whatever happen that would happen.

An hour or so passed after lights out before Klepto made his first move. Sliding open the bolt to his stable and click-clacking down the aisle, he reached the great barn doors. Vast wooden planks made up the beautifully designed doors, arching at the top with wrought iron fixtures and ornate carvings of creatures and landscapes into the grain. It was a difficulty for most people to open them without help, let alone a horse. But Klepto knew a secret way out - to the side was a single, unassuming doorway hidden down a little alleyway. It wasn't easy to maneuver as a horse, but he could squeeze through. He pushed down the handle, which was never locked in case of emergencies, and released himself into the outside world.

He stopped a few paces outside to gaze up at the clear sky. It was so quiet he could swear her heard the stars twinkling on their bed of black velvet, the new moon nestled amongst them smiling down at him. It was a beautiful sight. Taking a few steps forward towards the forest, he was just letting his mind drift when all of a sudden there was a noise behind him. He paused, adrenaline striking through his body, only to find his owner with a flashlight pointed at him and a disapproving look on her face. Klepto did nothing for a few seconds but look at her calmly, and she broke into a smile.

"Oh, you! How did I know you would be out here again?"

Klepto let out a snort as she giggled, coming up to him and rubbing his forelock. "Come on, no stealing tonight," she said, coaxing him back toward the barn. Once they had made it inside, trying not to disturb anyone's peaceful slumber, Klepto's owner put him safely away in his stall with a stick of carrot. By the dim light she couldn't see much, but she did notice what she thought looked like a snazzy pair of blue bell boots amongst the straw... She sighed and stroked Klepto's face soothingly, his head lolling down as he relaxed. Or was it in defeat? She couldn't quite tell. "Good night, Klepto." She began to walk away. "No stealing, please," she called over her shoulder. Klepto nodded his head as she left, accepting that he should do as she asked this one time. There was always tomorrow.

As he moved towards the back of his stall where it was darkest, something caught his eye. Getting closer, he could make out something stuck about elbow height on the wall - a piece of paper. Craning his neck, he could make out something scribbled on it in a careless hand, yet it didn't look like the human writing he often saw around the barn. It was more like an orange oval with five sticks - no, four sticks and a head. And there were purple stripes criss-crossing it, too. If he had known what a tiger was, Klepto might have been mistaken, but he figured it out after a moment - it was a child's drawing of him! His face lit up in delight upon the realisation. No one had ever drawn him before. It was quite crude, but the likeness was undoubtable - it really was him, stick legs, purple stripes and all. Feeling almost giddy with happiness, Klepto curled up underneath the drawing to sleep, not feeling any untoward urge to get out of his stall any longer. He thought that little drawing was neat, and that he'd best come up with a plan to find the child sometime and give it a pet, to thank it for leaving him such a cool little monument to find. Klepto gave one last snort and slipped into lighthearted dreams.

[husky.]

Thump.

The pole crashed to the ground, bringing the total of dropped rails to 4. Brooke cantered in a wide arc around the arena, lining up her next obstacle with guidance from her rider, but her head wasn’t in the game. On approach, she came in too fast, cutting the last stride in half and having to stretch herself straight up in an effort to clear the jump, kicking her hind legs savagely as her rider was bounced out of his seat and leaned on her neck for balance upon landing. Brooke tossed her head, severely displeased with her performance during today’s jumping lesson. She knew in the back of her mind that it was a combination of factors that had lead to this end, though she still beat herself up about it. She felt a familiar flair of anger course through her, a heat that spread to her legs as she broke into a choppy trot. They had finished the mini course, but it was far from a clear round. Looks like it’s back to basics next time, she thought to herself, letting out a long exasperated sigh.

Her rider let his feet out of the stirrups and the reins loosen as the pair slowed to a cool-down walk. He spoke to the instructor standing in the centre of the ring, his voice sounding displeased as he took in the advice. Brooke remained oblivious as she focused on the grains of sand in front of her feet, head low. She strode around the arena in a stroppy fashion until she calmed down, at which point the anger had run it’s course and left her feeling disheartened. She was ashamed at how she had reacted to the unfavourable performance, but the worst feeling was that of inadequacy. Instead of going forward in their training, they seemed to be going backwards. She tried her hardest, honestly, but was it enough? Would it ever be enough? Leaving the arena, her gloomy thoughts followed her.

The process of untacking and washing down was an unfocused blur as Brooke’s mind swam in the swell of negative thoughts filling her head. She followed her rider’s directions placidly, not even having the heart to nip at him in her usual playful manner. When he let her into her cosy stall with some grain and a treat, she didn’t feel like eating. She only took the treat in an effort not to raise further concern. She didn’t touch her dinner, instead choosing to stand dejectedly in her stall, eyes half-lidded.

“Hmm... umph!”

Brooke’s ear twitched at the sound coming from the neighbouring stall, but paid it no mind. A few seconds passed before she heard it again.

“Hrrrrr, oof! Oh, come on!”

At this exclamation, she became curious. She raised her head a little, bit couldn’t see anything. The sounds continued and, deciding to step over and have a closer look, Brooke peeked through the bars separating the stalls. A red mare was lying on her back, wriggling and flicking her tail. Her legs, in the air, were propped against the back wall of the stable. Her motions appeared to be futile attempts to roll over.

Brooke watched her for a few moments. “Are you stuck, Rory?” she asked incredulously, raising a single eyebrow lazily.

The red mare did her best to get a look at Brooke, but her position made it quite difficult. “Well,” she began, giving another wriggle with no success. “What does it look like?”

Brooke watched Rory struggle again until she gave up and just lay there, staring at the roof. She was so helpless, looking like a dog wanting a belly rub, that Brooke couldn’t help but see the humour in it. A little giggle escaped her, which she tried her best to smother, but Rory still heard her and gave an indignant swish of her tail.

“Hey! Don’t you dare laugh at me! I don’t see you with any bright ideas to get me outta this mess!” she snapped. “How ‘bout you go find someone to help, that would be useful, at least.” Rory snorted and went back to her staring.

Containing her fit of giggles, Brooke cleared her throat. “You know,” she began, “You can just swing your legs away from the wall to get unstuck. Just do the opposite of what you did to get there in the first place.”

Rory was quiet for a second before testing out the theory. She flailed her legs wildly in the air, trying to kick off the wall and eventually rolling onto her side with a whump. Rory looked straight up at Brooke, and suddenly there was no stemming the wave of laughter that erupted. Rory was not impressed at first - her mane was frizzy and sticking out all over the place, wood shavings spread all through it and all over her body and tail - but Brooke’s laughter was infectious, and soon both the mares were cackling together at the predicament.

“Okay, I guess you did have a bright idea,” chuckled Rory, as Brooke continued to guffaw, giving an uncontrollable snort which made them both laugh even harder. Whatever ill feelings she had had after her lesson were forgotten; the two mares kept each other sane - or insane, as they must look to anyone walking past at that moment.

[husky.]

-- music inspo --

The rumble of many hooves, like rolling thunder, disturbed the peace of the shoreline. Where the sounds of lapping waves and the cool breeze through the sparse, salty grasses had been moments before, a chorus of hooves beating the sand rose up, louder and louder, threatening to split the earth with all their might. Barden could not see what must be a whole company of horses from his position between the dunes, but he could certainly hear them as he made his way towards the ocean.

He could feel his rider tense up, whether from excitement or nerves he couldn't be sure. He was not one to spook or charge at the sight of another horse, and he hoped his rider would learn this and soon relax. Barden quite enjoyed a pleasure ride these days, but an anxious rider made it a little unpleasant. As the two came upon the last dunes before the open beach, the rumbling hooves grew only louder. They must be almost upon their position, Barden thought. He climbed up the low dune, his hooves sinking deep into the pale gold sand, and a wondrous sight beheld him.

From on top of the dune the vast expanse of the ocean spread before him, the strip of beach hemmed in by forested cliffs and the pockmarked stone of rock pools at either end. The sun glinted off the water and sand, corrugated from the ceaseless motions of the tide, but the true beauty was that of the herd of horses ploughing down the beach at a breakneck pace. Tossing sand and spray behind them, they left deep gashes in the ground where their hooves carved it away. To Barden it looked as though they had come along the whole beach which stretched a few kilometres in each direction, and this was made evident as they bore down on him, hides glistening with sweat. As they came closer, Barden was drawn to one horse in particular who lead the pack, stretching ahead of the others by half a length and only gaining. She emanated strength, and Barden was completely starstruck.

Her coat was of the palest cream and her mane and tail were a fiery brown, thrashed and pulled by the wind against her. She thrust her legs forward, seeming to cover more ground with each powerful stride, yet she remained as elegant as anything. Her movements looked effortless. The flaring nostrils and sheen of sweat seemed out of place on this sleek mare, as though she were of another realm and should not be afflicted by such earthly conditions. Barden watched as closely as he could as they flew by, trying to stretch the mere seconds for as long as he could to marvel at this mare. He almost didn't notice his rider nudging him forward in pursuit until he clicked his tongue, snapping Barden out of his daydream.

Eyes ahead on the herd, Barden plunged down the dune and onto the firm sand, the sound of his hooves joining the raucous medley. He picked up pace, adrenaline seeping through his body and spurring him on, his rider up over his neck to give him as much leeway as possible. His eyes remained on his quarry, their tails flying like flags out behind them as though taunting him to catch up. Barden gave chase with all his might.

With fresh legs, he came upon the back of the herd within seconds. Not only the clatter of their hooves greeted his ears, but the vigorous and rhythmic panting of their spent bodies, which was like a well-oiled machine chugging its way along the beach. as they came closer, Barden's rider guided him to the right away from the flying sand and into the shallows, where he careened past the herd. He cut through the cool waves as he rounded them up, the water splashing him and the nearest horse with salty droplets. Almost to the front, the pale mare came into view like a beacon, leading them all across the expanse of sand.

Clear of the others, Barden swung close to the mare, coming up beside her. She was fast, barreling down the beach as strong as ever while the rest of the herd flagged. They were almost neck and neck before she flicked her ear back, noticing him running beside her, giving him a sideways glance. Barden gazed back at her intensely, and she took this as a challenge. Tossing her head, glorious mane flashing in the wind, she charged forward with all her might. Her rider balanced with ease, moving as if one with her mount. Barden's rider let out a laugh which was whipped away by the wind, as he nudged him forward. There was no encouragement needed, however, for Barden wished to race with this mare, and sped after her.

It was almost a struggle to keep up with her, even though he had just started his gallop. He really had to focus on his paces, keeping himself steady - consistency is key. The mare was agile, he could say that. Barden caught up with her, and now they were racing side by side, their strides and breaths coordinating as they dashed along. Barden could feel his heart beating loudly in his chest not just with exertion and adrenaline, but with exhilaration and awe. This mare was like the leader of a war party, hurtling towards the enemy with the fierce intensity of a thousand fires, power radiating from her and lending him strength. She was a marvel to watch, almost frightening, her movements fluid and practiced, almost otherworldly. Barden's heart leapt at the sight of her. And, all too soon, the beach ran out.

They pulled up before hitting the rocks, gouging the sand and snorting as they pranced to a walk. Barden's chest heaved, and he could see the mare doing the same. She remained beautiful though, her neck arched and eyes playful as she regarded him. Barden felt like a lovesick puppy as she danced a circle around him, the world seeming to move in slow motion at her behest, and he felt a blossoming of warmth in his chest. The rest of the herd had caught up to them and was slowing down around them, their breaths perforating the air.

Barden kept his eyes on the mare. "What is your name?" he called out, desperate to know.

She smiled at him, raising her head high. "Helewys," was her response, voice low and calm. It was like music to his ears. "And what is yours?"

"My name is Barden." He had to turn to follow her as she wound her way around him, like a spider skillfully wrapping it's prey in silken thread - if she had caught him, though, he had no desire to resist.

Helewys's rider signaled to the others to make their way back. They had rested for a few minutes now, and the sun was rising on a hot day. Helewys, giving Barden one last flirtatious smile, gave a half rear, letting out a thrilling whinny, and charged down the beach the way they had come, her entourage bolting after her. Barden felt weak at the knees watching her go. Such beauty and strength. I think I'm in love.

[husky.]

The newborn foal was a firecracker. At times she could be as deathly silent as a starlit, mountain lake, deep and brooding. Yet at a moment's notice she was fizzling, her fuse alight and sending her off in a flurry of pent-up energy that had nowhere to go but out. The most difficult moments, however, were those where the fuse burned out and the firecracker was set off. The foal cavorted, careened, whinnied, kicked out her legs, ran full-pelt, then stopped like she had hit a tree - and sometimes she did just that! She was a danger to herself, with no idea of her personal space or that of others, and with seemingly no intention of settling down. Marzipan hardly knew how to deal with this foal, and didn't know where to turn for help, but she was determined to get through this one way or another.

But the foal was a dear little thing, Marzipan admitted to herself, mostly when the foal had ran out her energy and fallen in a heap at her mother's feet. She was so peaceful then, only a flicker of her ear or nose to show she was still alive. Marzipan would admire her and nuzzle her gently while keeping watch, savouring the quiet moment and sometimes getting a wink of sleep herself. The foal's fuzzy coat was softer than baby shoots of grass, her legs as long and thin as twigs, looking like they would snap in a slight breeze - but she was tougher than her exterior would suggest, as Marzipan had come to find, after a number of heart-attack-inducing frights in which she thought the foal would surely sustain an injury only to get up and continue playing like nothing happened, or come tenderly under her mother's belly, hiding from whatever she had found did not agree with her.

Growing stronger by the hour and feistier by the day, the little foal was given a name - Amberley, for the amber lustre of her coat in the sunlight. Though, as time passed, she began to resemble her mother more and more, her golden hair replaced by grey. The little foal became not only a source of worry for Marzipan, but a sponge into which she could pour as much knowledge as she could without end. Every little detail Amberley would take in, processing and storing in her malleable mind, observing her mother and copying what she did or doing her best to listen for more than a few seconds before she became distracted. Marzipan, always thirsty for knowledge herself, reveled in this aspect. She imparted as much as she could every day to Amberley, and satisfied her endless questions no matter how silly they seemed. She found it humbling, especially when asked something she would normally take for granted, or something that took her mind to places she hadn't been before - sometimes the silly questions were the most thought-provoking, and, in a way, Marzipan felt as though some days she were the student and the foal her wise teacher.

On one particular day, one Marzipan wished she could forget but knew she would not any time soon, Amberley pushed a little too far. The questions were ceaseless, a tide that persisted with not end in sight, and her energy was boundless. Marzipan could hardly keep up with her let alone watch her every moment while trying to get some rest or nibble some grass. The lone mother felt weary to her bones, and her patience was running thin. She could bare through it most days, but today was not one of them.

"Mama, how long until we see my papa? Why is the sky blue? Oh, hey, it's that bird again, hi birdie! Mama, what are you doing? Why aren't we the same colour, Mama? Why... how... when... Mama... Mama, MAMA MAMA--"

"Stop it!" cried Marzipan, lashing out with a rear hoof in anger.

A tiny shriek filled the air, sending the few nearby birds up into the sky with a chitter of wings and beaks. Marzipan's blood ran cold, knowing in an instant what had happened.

Her foal, her dear little filly, had been on the receiving end of that momentary kick. Marzipan whipped around, crying out to her as she tried to see where she had accidentally hit her, to reach out and comfort her. Amberley, cowering and holding a leg up tenderly, stood silently after the unexpected pain. She was in shock. Marzipan checked her over, spying a small cut on one leg just near the joint. She felt her heart leap in sadness and anger at herself. Her brash display of frustration had caused her foal pain, and had injured her. She felt like she would break to pieces. Amberley watched her with round eyes as wide as saucers, her trust in her mother momentarily shattered as she dealt with the confusion and unknown feeling of inflicted pain. Marzipan's own eyes welled with tears as she pulled her foal close, kissing her, reassuring her, letting her know how much she was loved. They both broke down in tears, and although Amberley's experience of this day would be forgotten soon after as just another day of her childhood, Marzipan's memory would carry on with her for years to come, bringing her a sting of regret each time she recalled this moment. Marzipan made a promise to Amberley that she would never let her anger get the best of her again.

[husky.]

Deeper than the farthest reaches of the galaxy, your eyes hold me spellbound.
Their light is brighter and warmer even than the sun itself, though their sparkle is that of the cool starlight.
Each time we lock eyes I feel as though a heady, summer’s breeze caresses me, promising ceaseless happiness as I am beheld by it’s temperate grip.
I must gaze upon you again, for my heart harbours a constant yearning for your company. Meet me by the pond this midnight, so we may ponder our reflections in the water, and that you might glimpse the beauty of your own visage.

Tempest finished the last stroke of the letter, his well-used pen gliding over the paper with ease. He reread the words again, finally satisfied that he could not make it much better. He did have a deadline to adhere to, though he lamented the fact - his artform took time, and inspiration was hard to come by some days. He set down the pen and folded the paper neatly, his movements practiced and precise. He had been writing poems and love letters for others for many years now, though not consistently. His reputation as a skilled word master was well-known, though his reliability was far less reputable. He wrote only when the inspiration took him, mostly. He is a strong believer in the fact that you can’t force perfection, especially when his good name is on the line. Only his best letters were let loose on the world.

Tempest sealed the letter and began his journey to the recipient. As well as taking care of the writing, Tempest also made sure his letters never fell into the wrong hands. When someone implors him to write a poem to their loved one, Tempest gleans as much information as possible from the sender in order to make each piece as unique as possible, tailored to their wishes and the favour of the recipient. He prides himself on this fact, and he has not yet had an unhappy customer, each pair expressing their love for his work as whether they know it was written by him or not, for he often wrote under the guise of the sender and sometimes as an anonymous figure.

There is someone, however, to whom Tempest dare not write - not directly, anyway. They were truly lovely in Tempest’s eyes, and he couldn’t bring himself to compose a love letter for the simple reason that he couldn’t think of anything quite perfect enough for them. Any attempts he made were scrapped, crossed out, rewritten until they no longer made sense. Tempest just couldn’t find the words to put on the page that would adequately describe his feelings, nor their likeness from his perspective. He remained troubled by this and often thought of them, though it only brought him pain to know that he couldn’t bring himself to write to them.

Spotting his latest recipient, Tempest cleared his mind and stride over, setting a charming smile on his face.

“My fair lady, I have a letter addressed to you,” he said, bowing low before her as she looked on in mild surprise.

“Oh, for me?” As Tempest regained his posture, the mare blushed in embarrassment.

“Addressed to only the ‘loveliest of stars in the sky’ - yes, my dear, it is you.” Tempest proffered the letter in a ceremonious way, and the mare took it gently. He watched as she opened it, waiting for the reaction - was it a well-written letter? He hoped so - and he was rewarded with a little giggle and a shy look from the mare as she finished reading.

“Thank you for delivering this letter,” she said. “It’s just what I wanted to hear today.” With this, she left. Tempest began to make his way back to his own place, satisfied in knowing that it was another job well done.

As he was passing through, a young colt dashed up to him. “Mister! Are you the poet? Can you write me a letter?” The young tolter’s expression was eager and innocent, and Tempest stopped to listen.

“What sort of letter do you wish to send, lad?” he asked, giving the colt a slight smile. “I deal in poetry, news, and love, amongst other things - what do you propose?”

The colt seemed bashful as he paused before answering. “I want to send a letter to my friend, he’s really funny and he makes me feel happy even when I’m really sad. I think he deserves a letter to tell him that. Oh, and please mention something about his laugh - it’s like, uh, a songbird who has no care in the world! Just a happy bird! Please, I really want to send him a letter, but I don’t know what to say!”

Tempest listened carefully and reassured the colt. “I’d be glad to compose for you, my boy. It sounds like a worthy cause, and your friend sounds divine. I shall have a draft for you soon, I will find you.”

The colt beamed up at Tempest as he scampered off to join his friends again, and Tempest couldn’t help but wonder which friend was the lucky giftee; perhaps the filly with the Roman nose? The one with the pretty feathers, making her hooves look petite? Maybe it was the colt with the big teeth, or the one with a spiky mane? Tempest could only guess, though he had a sneaking suspicion it was the colt with big teeth - his smile was warm, and he looked like he would have a good laugh. Tempest left the young tolters to themselves and continued on his way, his mind falling into troubled waters yet again.

It wasn’t long before he found himself almost home. His muscle memory had guided him back, as he had no recollection of his steps to get here, his mind preoccupied by the tolter he adored. Why couldn’t he write about them? What was stopping him? With his brow furrowed in thought, he didn’t notice the horse before him before he had almost knocked knees with them.

Startled, the other horse back up a few steps. “Excuse me,” they said, their voice quite melodic. Tempest looked up and found himself face-to-face with the tolter who occupied most of his waking thoughts, and sometimes his dreams.

“Tempest?,” exclaimed the tolter. “Why, I haven’t seen you in an age! You’re so elusive these days, your nose stuck in your books and letters. How are you?”

Tempest nodded meekly, finding it hard to form the right words in his head. “Uh, yes, I’m doing well thank you! Ha ha, I do love my books, a real bookworm I am...” he said, trailing off to avoid saying anything else embarrassing. If the other tolter noticed his nervousness, they didn’t show it. “And h-how are you?”

“Oh I’m fine, as usual. Quite dandy, in fact - for I just found the most glorious riverside glade in my travels today. It really was something special, the sunlight dappling the ground, wildflowers attracting the bees... I should show you sometime, if you have a spare afternoon.” Their smile was absolutely radiant, and it was all Tempest could do to prevent himself from visibly swooning.

“I would like that, I think,” he replied, wanting to say so much more but unable to find the words.

“It’s settled then! I’ll take you to the glade, and you can see yourself the wild beauty of it. I must run off now, but it was good seeing you again,” continued the tolter, brushing past Tempest in a flurry of hooves as they trotted off in the other direction. Tempest was left staring after them, wondering just what had happened. As if in a daydream, he wandered back home.

When he arrived, he lay down to think under a wide tree. It was where he did his best thinking. Getting comfy, he felt something catch his tail. He flicked it, attempting to dislodge it, and suddenly a small roll of paper fell out at his feet. Surprised, he opened it up to find the slanted cursive handwriting of that tolter - they had passed him a note, it seemed! He read the few words over and over, his heart beating warm in his chest.

To Tempest, the perfect storm -
Meet me by the old oak at midday.
Bring a sense of adventure.
See you soon ~

[husky.]

The daylight was fadinng, a cool breeze washing any warmth away across the desert, as if the heat were following the sun towards the horizon. Two horses, not lonely by any means, were wandering the craggy plains in search of shelter for the night. They were nomadic, travelling about as they pleased, with only a few known areas of good shelter and food. The rest of the time spent travelling between these places was often accompanied by adventure and excitement, as well as days of thirst and hunger when there was little in the way of nourishment to find. The two horses, however, did not find this disagreeable - it was their choice to roam, finding new beauty and experiences as they made their way around the country.

They were quite different in appearance to each other: one, a dark blue roan, was pretty and blind. She knew how to take care of herself, yet relied on the other horse for companionship and comfort. The other, a grizzled stallion past his prime, was dark brown and shaggy. The only similarity between them was their white markings, setting them apart from their surroundings but not hindering them too much in the wild lands. The mare turned to the stallion now.

“Bear,” she said, her voice melodic and soothing. It was what the stallion loved most about her. “I can feel the sun leaving the sky. Where will we shelter tonight?”

The stallion, Bear, regarded the setting sun, the orange glow casting a strange light over the landscape. The shadows were getting longer and darker by the second, stretching like ink staining the sand. “I can see a small copse by a hillside perhaps a couple of kilometres away,” he replied. “The trees are scraggly, but they’ll protect us from the wind. I say we make for them.”

The mare nodded, trusting his judgement. Their relationship was built on this trust - without sight, she needed him to guide the way through the terrain and spot danger in the distance. The mare, however, had a keen sense of smell and hearing, lending them an advantage when visibility was low. The two began walking, their hooves making muffled thudding sounds on the soft, sandy earth. Every now and then a hoof would clink against a rock, or crunch on a twig. Otherwise, they were quiet.

They were out in the open, slowly rising up a gradual hill towards a sheer wall of rock. The bushes became more populous near the formation jutting out from the earth, finding more favourable conditions where the wind couldn’t blow them away like it did the sand. The scraggly trees were no more than a few hundred metres away at this point, and the sun had set behind the hill. They were tired now and their heads hung low to the ground. All of a sudden, the mare snapped her head up, abruptly coming to a halt.

Bear followed suit, watching her warily. “What is it, Arsenia?” he probed after a few seconds, voice almost a whisper.

The mare’s nostrils flared and ears flicked as she tried to pinpoint what had alerted her. “I smell something,” she said vaguely. Bear turned to where Arsenia’s nose was pointed almost dead ahead at the dark rock formation. The moon was the main source of light now, beaming down periodically as dark clouds crawled by in front of it. He scanned the horizon, first close to them and then farther away. The moon became shrouded in cloud, throwing the desert into dimness.

“I don’t see anything,” Bear said to Arsenia. He looked back to her, and she seemed disgruntled.

“Maybe it was nothing, there’s no more smell.” She took a few steps forward, her nose bumping into Bear’s side. She gave him an affectionate nip and he tossed his head playfully before they continued their march, Arsenia following him closely.

A few minutes passed before the smell came again, carried by the breeze as it picked up. Arsenia snorted audibly, her ears and nose pointed straight at the rock formation looming above them. The clouds passed by the moon which washed the land in a pale light, and Bear looked up at the rock, almost starting as the outline of a figure became clear against the sky.

The moonlight cast the figure in a ghostly glow. It was a horse, white as snow with a head as dark as shadows, looking down on them from the top of the formation. Bear stared intensely, trying to discern their meaning - were they intending to fight, defend, scare them off? Were they friend or foe? He took a few steps to the side until he could feel Arsenia’s body against his, his eyes never leaving the horse on the hill. He whispered to her.

“It’s a horse,” he said, farther describing the ghostly figure he saw to his companion. Arsenia continued to scent the air, her nostrils dilating.

“Alone?” she asked.

“Yes. As far as I can see.” The horse didn’t move but for its mane and tail being rustled by the wind. It watched them, or appeared to, Bear couldn’t be sure. “Shall we call out, see what they want?”

Arsenia thought for a moment. “Yes. We’d best be sure we’re not trespassing, or we’ll likely have a nasty shock in the night.”

Bear focused on the horse. “Ho there!” he called out, his voice booming in the quiet nighttime. There was no response from the horse. “We seek shelter here for the night. Do we trespass on your land?” The horse remained impassive. Bear’s brow furrowed.

Arsenia let out a loud breath. “Another horse approaches,” she said to Bear, just as another figure appeared by the first on the summit of the rock. This one was taller, darker. The first horse moved now, turning its head to the second. To Bear it looked as though words were being exchanged, though nothing could be heard from this distance and with the wind picking up.

“Try again,” Arsenia said to Bear, her expression tense. “I sense authority.”

Bear looked up hopefully. “We do not seek conflict, only shelter for the night,” he called out. The two horses, silhouetted in the sky by the moon behind, looked down on them. Bear shivered, and it wasn’t from the wind.

Then, the second horse spoke: “Stay.”

The single word came down to them clearly, the voice loud over the wind. Bear’s heart leaped, and he let out a breath he didn’t realise he had been holding. He watched the two horses for anything else, but they were as still as the rock they stood on. Clouds scudded across the moon again, throwing them all into darkness. Did that response mean they could seek shelter here for the night?

Arsenia leaned against Bear, her head against his neck. “What’s happening now?”

“I can’t see anything,” replied Bear, searching the darkness for the horses. The moon reappeared, and the two figures were no longer there. “They’re gone.”

Arsenia lipped Bear’s neck gently. “I wonder who they were?” she asked. “He said ‘stay’ - do you think it’s safe?”

Bear shook his head slowly, the blank rock glaring back at him. “I don’t know. Only one way to find out.”

He started forward towards the copse of trees at the base of the rock formation. Arsenia followed, sticking close by him. They settled into a sheltered spot, dry and free from the wind. The sand was a soft bed, and they snuggled close together. It was a strange encounter, Bear thought, but he was almost certain the horses meant them no harm. As he drifted off to sleep, he felt as though someone watched over them that night.