The incredulous stare that Dock imparts upon Black Heart Machine made her realize that her vigor was lost upon the newcomer. She didn’t understand her rush—her frenzy—and why should she? Dock was easily less than half Machine’s age. She was much too young to know and see all the things Machine had known and seen. It was perhaps too overwhelming for her to meet the Akhal-Teke mare in such a state, and as much as Machine wished she could make Dock comprehend the gravity of the situation, she knew that if she was going to have a fighting chance at understanding, this was not the proper way.

At the cream-colored mare’s soft words, Machine takes a deep breath and closes her eyes, exhaling softly. She swishes her tail from left to right, the thin layer of sweat that coated her lithe, opal-black frame shining in the midday sun.

“We are oppressed by many—passively, and outright,” Machine replies steadily, coming to grips with her earlier bout of pent up frustration. “I apologize for my outburst. It was not my intent to startle you.”

The dark mare’s gaze leaves Dock momentarily and drifts to the summit of the Peak that jutted into the cool blue sky. Machine looks to her Peak for strength and resolve. She was going to need it to get through these next few months.

“I am Black Heart Machine and this is Vulcan Peak. We are a sisterhood that fights for those who have no voice,” Machine explained as simply as she could. She returned her eyes to the cremello mare, searching her expression for a hint of understanding or perhaps even intrigue.

BLACK HEART MACHINE