To say Beowulf was shocked would perhaps be an understatement. The small colt was completed and totally bewildered.


He had seen the pale mare approach from the shallows. Sanibel had made it almost a custom now to stand among the low grasses and sheltering branches of the trees that bordered the main part of the island. From this position, it was easiest for her to view the ocean and the islands that were hidden by the horizon. She had told him, time and again, of a chestnut stallion that he had never met, a stallion who was not his father but one that she adored. The adoration in her green eyes was clear to him, much clearer than the mutiny and disgust that gleamed when Rougaru came near. He found her stories fascinating, enjoyable even. Stories of a faraway island where tall grasses grew almost to mother’s bank. Of a place that was wide open and inviting in that it offered the freedom to run without worry about stumbling over exposed roots or hidden holes. The pictures she painted with her stories were exquisitely fun, and filled with promise... but he wondered if he would ever get to visit such a place. He knew there was no love between his parents, but there was love for him, he could feel it in the bright green eyes of his father and the warm smile in which he gazed at the bouncing boy. Though he never spent much time with father, he was still proud of who the stallion was, he was strong and fierce and well in the eyes of the colt invincible. There was not anything he thought could defeat the stallion. He knew that he and mother would be safe here... that is until today.

The mare is irritated, that much is clear, her ears bury themselves beneath the thick curls of her water logged mane as she makes a beeline to where he stood next to mother. She found the strange mare, fear glazing her eyes as the painted mare managed to seperate her away from Beowulf's side. His heart thrummed quicker as he watched her give up and turn towards the ocean surf. He watched her until she is but a memory upon the waves and lets a weakened cry slip from his lips. He wanted to cry for her to come back, wanted to beg for her to take him with her but it was futile... she was gone.

Suddenly father was there. His tall dark form standing over him, eyeing the shore where the pale mare stood watching the ocean surf. "Dad.... mom?" he asks his voice soft. For the first time emerald green eyes of father met his own, there is a hardness there, a reassurance as the great coffee colored stallion's warmth lingers at his side. "She is gone Beowulf. Let her go." the stallion replies, bending his great neck to nuzzle the cream and white colored colt's neck. For a moment the father and son linger side by side, watching the victorious mare upon the sands. Neither speak a word for a long moment. Emerald green eyes stare up into those of the coffee colored stallion, watching his unreadable gaze.

For the first time in his young life, something akin to anger begin to nudge at his soul, nosing with a quite soothing voice offering him encouragement. The mare turns to him now, her voice was not mother's... but it was soothing none the less and the scent of milk was fresh on her skin. Suddenly the forgotten hunger arises and nervously Beowulf steps to her side, burying his muzzle beneath her flank to suckle at her swollen teat.