It was time to move.

Was time still passing? Or was this a dream?

Finally, there it was its silhouette rimmed the horizon – it was her old friend, the Peak.

The hoof beats this mare left, trod the earth at a slow drum beat. The golden tangles of her mane lay frozen with ice from the sea. It was her subconscious mind that could lead her soul here, with certainty Ardea could sleep walk here. The paths that entered the territory were so familiar each step battled with her – it was the familiarity that let memories flood through that trap door inside of her – it had been shut so well, for so long.

Her daughter was part of the magnet that forced her back to this place. The other part was the qualm inside that wished to seek out the last veterans of the rocky enclave. When they found her, she would be so shadowed – so weathered. The feminine outline of her form was getting older, nine almost ten years of life’s experiences weighed heavy on her champagne back line. This mare wasn’t young and naïve any longer, she dreamed to be at that stage again, untouched by the misery of life. However there was no regret for what had happened through the years, life brought in both dark nights and bright days.

Hazel eyes circulated the ivory earth, speculating for mares that passed for her age or older. Machine, Anath, Carmen, Summer, Chokehold? Would she find them in blood and flesh, or marred mirages of her imagination? Small possibilities of what could be there to face her from her past were the only thing that frightened Ardea. The scent of her daughter was fresh on the wind, which consoled her mind and reassured that there was at least one reason to be back this time.

This time she was ready for the ghosts to come... let them come.