Falls

A calm spring afternoon along the falls is like grazing in a distant memory. Indian Hemp has stood upon this spot before, but it was so many years ago. He was young then, so naive and full of fear from a violent colthood. In growing up he learned to love himself and others, to let go of a fear that once crippled him, and to stand in the face of a challenge. There is a calm confidence about him that wasn't there before.

His body, however, is a ghost of what it was. A spotted coat has grown lighter. Once a partial leopard, the stallion is now covered from nose to tail in black and faded copper spots. His mane has turned from grizzled gray to white. Indian Hemp's eyes, once contasting white rimmed and dark, are pale and clouded. His winter coat has shed, revealing sunken flanks and valleys between his ribs.

His lips move at a leisurely pace, savoring the sweet taste of spring grasses. His ears swivel, alert, though his posture remains relaxed. An easy wind plays in his mane. Fine and short as a foal's it stand erect along his crest. The ends of his sparse tail tickle his hocks. Grazing in the most quiet of public lands, he's not sure if he'd rather spend the day alone or encounter a friendly face. A heavy heart is torn between a desire to continue mourning and a need to begin to heal.