Restlessness abounds. It seems that Black Heart Machine was not the only Vulcan who’d grown tired of standing around and musing about the good weather. She decided today she would go for a run—get her heart pounding and invigorate her senses. She comes flying down the mountain path, her head raised and her tail flying out behind her like a great black flag. With each footfall, she presses herself on and rockets forward with the speed and grace only thousands of years of Akhal-Teke heritage could afford. There was something spectacular about being a creature made for movement—let alone one who moved with such wild elegance.

She spotted the other mare from a distance that she closed with ease, slowing her gallop to a lofty trot and at last stood only a few yards away from her. Machine took a moment to assess her before she spoke—she was young, but hardly a filly. And definitely an interesting blend of horses too. Where the dark mare saw the refinement of her own breed, she also saw the sturdiness of the cold-blooded variety with a striking similarity to Impazienza in markings. Interesting.

“I don’t believe we have met yet,” Machine begins pleasantly. “I am Black Heart Machine.”

Machine doesn’t presume that every Vulcan who ever lived knew her name or who she was, but she hoped that one day her contributions to the history of their herd and the achievements that came with it would carry enough weight that most would. The dark mare had lived a long time but was hardly on her deathbed—there was time yet to continue the fight against the male oppression that ran so rampant on these Islands. With every new face came a new opportunity, and Machine knew just how to take advantage.

BLACK HEART MACHINE