Jetta

Heat and humidity buffeted her as she emerged from the sea and stumbled to shore in exhaustion. Winter had not touched this place, it seemed, but the ground was scarcely any drier than the ocean, for it had rained recently and the thunderheads in the distance promised that it would rain again very soon. The air was so thick that she struggled to inhale it.

Jetta had pushed herself hard to get here: too hard. Her soaked body was trembling from head to hoof, and reality swam like fish before her eyes. But she would not have had it any other way. The vision was still clear in her mind; it still elicited the same deep feeling of dread in the pit of her stomach. Once she had seen it, she'd done everything she could to get here as quickly as possible. Even then, she feared she had not been quick enough.

She could do no more for now until she had rested, however. Turning her bloodshot blue eyes inland, the mare wobbled the short distance to a nearby palm and collapsed beneath it, lying flat on her side with her head on the sand. Her lungs ached, and her limbs were numb. She felt so weak that she hardly had the energy to breathe. She was also only dimly aware of the sound of the waves crashing nearby; they registered as the vaguest impression at the edge of her mind.

With eyes closed, she focused on a quiet, peaceful spot in her brain and tried to remain there. It was like sleep, but not quite: it was her safe space, the place she went when she needed to prevent another episode. She did not have the energy for another vision; in fact, she thought she might die if she had one now.