I hear a voice inside me say
'feel the blood flow through your veins'
Fate had brought them here.
Sandman woke from a reverie to find himself on the border of the desert, salt water prickling at his skin, and scents that he recognised prickling at his mind. His blood ran cold, and something inside him twisted with guilt. His first instinct was to turn and run, because he had created his own monsters, and if he were to stay, it would mean facing them. The thought of that scared him more anything ever had. But he would not run. He would not be a coward. He would not give in to the weakness that was his legacy.
The skinny silver-maned stallion worked his way along the edge of the desert, his progress slowed by the shifting sands beneath his hooves. Though the wind had removed all signs of passage across this land before him, he knew that the one he followed had come this way. And there… There he was. An even skinnier bright-haired stallion, lying on his side in the dark. His eyes were open, dull as they scanned the clouded sky, as if searching in vain for something that wasn’t there. He was alone, and seemed oblivious as to how vulnerable he was. No, that wasn’t right. He seemed to sense the presence of another, and when he shifted his head to meet Sandman’s contemptuous gaze, he sighed, and closed his eyes, as though he had been waiting for him. The younger stallion stared down his muzzle, his whole body tense. It would be a lie to say that a large part of him didn’t want to rear and up bring his forehooves down ---
“What are you waiting for? Be done with it.”
“No.”
Sandman spat the word, its roughness matching the hoarseness of his father’s voice, and he looked away, standing still as a statue, trembling with emotion. He said nothing, and seemed disinclined to leave. Balthazar eventually gave in and struggled to his feet, groaning as he did so. He couldn’t bring himself to turn his dark right eye towards the figure of his son, and so just hunched his shoulders and turned his head away, baring his throat, as if he still hoped…
“Is this where you left him to bleed out?”
Balthazar flinched, and lowered his head, an old ache blooming in his chest. “I… I don’t remember.” He squealed, then, as he felt teeth pinch the skin on his shoulder, and twist, before Sandman drew back, leaving his father with a bleeding wound on his shoulder. He turned to meet Sandman’s gaze then, and couldn’t hide the hurt in his eyes. This time, it was the younger who broke the stare that spoke a thousand words.
“Don’t lie to me,” Sandman hissed, his ears lying flat to his skull. “After everything… Don’t I deserve the truth, just this once?” He shook his head, snorted sharply, and flicked his tail. There was a fire burning in his eyes. “Forget it. You never gave me anything.” The silence was even colder than the night air, and it hung heavily between them, so that it seemed there was no sound, but the beating of the bruised and broken hearts in their chests. “Why should I expect…” Sandman’s ragged breath was like a wind in Balthazar’s ear. Like a thunderstorm on the horizon.
Maybe they were winds of change.
Rains bringing life to land long dead.
“Why?” At the narrow-eyed glare from Sandman, Balthazar twitched his single ear in apprehension, and drew in a deep breath, before he clarified. “Why did you… Why are you here?” He lowered his head, a thick strand of silver hair falling in his eyes. He wondered about his question himself. Why was he here? Hadn’t he told… His… His mountain… He had told her that this desert was just sand, and blood, and bones… He had said he could never come back, and yet, here he was. He had also said that her Moonwalker would never leave her. With a swift and frantic jerk of his head, he raised his chin, searching the heavens with his one good eye, for just a glimpse, one tiny glimpse of the moon. If… If he could find it, could see it, that meant maybe, maybe she might see it too.
“What you’re looking for isn’t up in the clouds!” Sandman snarled in the ruins of Balthazar’s functioning ear. “It’s out there, but you’re too much of a coward to realise that!” Balthazar shrank away, eyes rolling, but Sandman did not relent. “You, you act like you are nothing, you run away from what really matters! You--!” An angry snort, warm breath washing over him. “I met a boy with a coat like fire, and he spoke so highly of you. He said you told him he had to find a reason for living. Tell me, what is yours, father?” Balthazar felt his chest tighten. He remembered Kye, and how full of anger he had been, and how… How the colt struggled relating to his own father. There was fire in him, just as there was fire in Sandman.
Fire spreads quickly.
Balthazar pinned his useless ear, and snapped at the air between them. “What did you do to him? If you hurt him, I’ll…” His chest rose and fell, heart beating like a drum. Sandman sneered and turned away, dismissing him so easily. How dare he? The blood was boiling in his veins and Balthazar, well, he was no longer himself. Or maybe he was just finding himself again, after all these years… Finding the soul he was before he lost his brother, and nearly lost his life. He lunged towards his son and sought to catch hold of him, and bite down. Taken by surprise, Sandman turned, but it was too late. His right ear was caught between Balthazar’s teeth, and Balthazar bit down, drawing a squeal of pain from his son. It was a dagger to his heart, and he froze. In his mind, he saw himself in Sandman’s place, and in his place stood his father, Gloryhound, biting down hard, severing his tiny, fragile limb… He felt it, the burning, stinging... Words, not from his father’s mouth, but from the wolf, the one who always haunted his darkest dreams. You are nothing, and no-one… And then –
“Now I am just like you.”
Sandman tore himself free, and lurched towards Balthazar, just as the older of the two reared up, left hoof trailing in the air, catching Sandman just above his left eye. Balthazar shook his head, the taste of copper in his mouth, a scrap of flesh on his tongue, falling to the ground. Balthazar balked, stared in horror. Sandman was bleeding, missing an ear, one eye closed. If not for the snip of white between his nostrils, and the lack of scars, it was like looking in a mirror.
“Now it will be easier to hate me.”
“No, I could never… I never hated you.”
All the fight and aggression and fire seem to go out of the younger stallion. He turned away, and after a moment, Balthazar followed. After walking along the edge of the desert for a few minutes in silence, Sandman spoke without looking at his father. “You should probably go before someone comes investigating…” No doubt the sound of their fight had been carried on the wind.
“What about you?”
“Don’t worry about me, I can handle myself. Besides…” he finally looked at Balthazar, with a softness in his eyes that hadn’t been there in a long, long time. “I don’t… You’ll get hurt if there’s trouble.” And just when things looked like they might be fixed after a lifetime of hurt and anger, Sandman pulled away when his father closed the distance between them. “Kept her waiting long enough, haven’t you?” His voice was rough, and his tone biting. Back to his old self.
Balthazar dipped his head and turned, heading towards the sea. After a few steps, he looked back. “What are you going to do?” He tried to sound concerned, but he hadn’t had a lot of practice.
“I’m just going to stay here a little while. I… You weren’t the only one I came here for.” Sandman looked out over the sand, so pale in the dark of night. “I did something very wrong. I hurt someone, and I’ve made the biggest mistake in my life… You see, there was this young mare, and I loved her and lost her. I lost myself, allowed my anger to rule me completely…” Sandman hung his head, overcome with shame. “I thought that maybe… I know I can never undo what I did, and I don’t deserve forgiveness… But I want to try and start making things right. I am so sorry for what I’ve done…” He flinched when he felt warm breath on his neck, and this time, when Balthazar leaned close, he didn’t draw back, though he remained tense and uncomfortable.
“You are braver than I,” Balthazar murmured, his chin resting on Sandman’s withers. “If it means anything… I’m proud of you, Lysander.”
Sandman trembled at the name, and almost turned to follow after his father. But there would be time for that later. The ache in his chest didn’t reach quite so deep anymore, and the anger that forever stirred in the pit of his stomach didn’t seem to burn so fiercely. He waited a few minutes longer, and then took a few tentative steps further into the desert. He knew she was here, and only hoped that he would find her without too much difficulty. Sandman didn’t know those who called the desert home very well, and was therefore a little worried about how his presence would be met if he came across one of the herd, let alone the stallion who lived here. But… He owed it to the small, pale brown and white mare to apologise for what he had done to her. And so, he braved the desert (and its inhabitants), trekking slowly under the half-hidden moon, ignoring the aches of his injuries, and thinking of what he would say when he found her.
as the memory
it remains |