It was the sort of day that discouraged progress—gray and dreary—the clouds in the sky indiscernible from the misty rain that seemed to dampen one to the bone. A chill hung in the air and Black Heart Machine bristles, never a fan of weather that inhibited movement. She defies it and moves anyway, despite the stiffness in her slender legs.

The Peak had an ethereal quietness and Black Heart Machine considers the meaning of this as she walks, disturbed by the inherent lack of action her Vulcan sisters had taken in furthering their cause. This mountain should never be quiet. There should be rumblings always—defiant cries to anyone that would listen. Cries that insisted even mares could be heard in a significant way. Mares were capable of doing all that stallions could, and more. They could raise hell, honor the fates, lead armies, teach children, defend territories, and they could do it alone or with their most trusted companions by their sides.

There could be an awakening. The women of Vulcan Peak could have their salvation—their equality. The idea of complete control over their lives was theirs for the taking. Black Heart Machine had felt this in her bones—old might they be. She had dreamed of it, and the foresight had drawn her back here. The fates had pulled her back, reminding her (as she must now remind the rest) that everything they wanted for so long was there for the taking, just so long as they did not become complacent.

Complacency was more of an enemy than those foul bachelors or ignorant herd stallions. The Peak was quiet because there was peace between the Vulcans and the rest of the islands. They had done little to upset the unsatisfactory status quo other than free a select few who obviously didn’t belong where they ended up. It was not enough. It would not be enough until each and every stallion that presided over a herd of subordinate mares on these islands lived each day in fear because the threat of the Vulcans liberating their entire herd was real. That was how mares could achieve balance—through this notion that they too had power.

And they did. They had the power to fight for what they believed in, the eloquence to plant new ideas in those that were open-minded enough to accept them, and the cunning to defy a single soul who dared to undermine them. Black Heart Machine knew this much the same way she knew she could not face her own mortality until there was real change. She would either see it through or die as a catalyst for it.

The rain patters upon the land steadily, and Black Heart Machine continues her thoughtful stroll until her dark eyes fall once again upon Impazienza’s familiar spotted hindquarters, her nose resting upon the withers of a large, vaguely familiar stallion. The Akhal-Teke mare stops, watching them carefully from afar. As he looks out toward the Peak with clouded eyes, Machine senses the intimacy of this moment, and feels oddly voyeuristic watching the two of them together. She moves closer to them, not wanting to break the silence with any superficial or hollow words. She can only snort lightly, just loud enough to overpower the rain and draw enough attention to distract them from the depth and poignancy of their thoughts.

BLACK HEART MACHINE