Impazienza says her name aloud, and the dark mare presses her scattered but poignant thoughts to the back of her mind for now. Black Heart Machine takes another step closer and lets her gaze drift from the blanketed mare to the stallion she called her grandsire, Ikari. The name is vaguely familiar to her, though she can’t place exactly why. He was an impressive stallion even in his advanced age, and Machine regards him with precisely the amount of respect one should have for a horse who has seen so much.

“Corinth. Why yes,” Machine replies. Corinth’s was a name she had not heard in many years. She remembered her fondly—the former Prime Minister was a brilliant strategist and eloquent speaker. In the time they spent working alongside each other, the two of them had accomplished plenty. She had a way of rallying the Vulcans into a frenzy of organized chaos, both empowering and challenging the women here to achieve what they knew in their hearts they could attain. And Machine, well, Machine was the instigator.

“She was my friend as well, a former Prime Minister and a fine leader,” Machine continued, flicking her dark eyes toward Impazienza. She knew that the blanketed mare could have learned a great many things from Corinth, if she had known her during the time Machine did. Impazienza had potential, and Machine could see it. The Peak needed a strong, eloquent leader again. A voice that inspired, rallied and demanded action. If Impazienza was that voice, then she would need guidance. And Black Heart Machine was happy to provide that guidance, but she would not help her until Impazienza admitted that was her wish. There was no use in guiding those who lacked the awareness to examine themselves fully and reflect upon how they might change to better them all as a group. If Impazienza never had this realization, then Machine supposed that other arrangements should be made. Like Ikari, Machine was not exactly privileged with an abundance of time.

He beckoned her out of the rain as it pattered down upon her back repeatedly and Machine ambles forward, in no particular hurry. Her long mane, soaking and matted wet against her body drips at her feet as she steps under the cover of the tree—taking care not to crowd either large horse. She looks from Ikari back to Impazienza again, and takes a long breath.

“I am not sure how much more of this I can take,” she muses, referring to both the rain and the state of the Vulcan collective.

BLACK HEART MACHINE