“Thanks,” he says before aligning himself with the older stallion and dropping his head to graze. Grass has never tasted so good. Kendry is amazed at how potent an experience life is when shared with another. It is the first time he realizes he doesn’t particularly enjoy being alone. It’s always been something he’s tolerated, and lately something he’d been forced to endure.
His ears twitch at the question and he snorts, low and derisive. “Hell if I know. When I was a colt that place was teeming with stallions, and now it’s like a wasteland. I came back a couple seasons ago and it looks like everyone’s uprooted and taken off. I’ve started to memorize the birds’ songs over there, that’s all I ever heard anymore. Think I should take up whistling?” He chuckles and tries to pass it off as a joke, but he’s a little serious. He’s been that lonely.
Kendry lifts his head as he chews and looks around. He can see how this quiet could be peaceful. He also knows firsthand how damning the absence of other horses has been. His head swings back to the spotted stallion at his shoulder. “How long’ve you been calling these islands home? Which herd did you come from? I’m from the Prairie; we had a small group but it was good. It was good,” he says again, deeply satisfied with the memories he’s conjured. Marlena, he thinks again, and smiles. Even if she’s not on the Islands, he knows she is well. How could she not be? His mother is the strongest horse he knows.
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