She’d never thought that it would end here.
A journey started in the heat of anger, as an act of rebellion, travelled alone and often through the deepest darkness came to a lacklustre conclusion, leaving the fragile and refined mare tangled amongst the piles of seaweed that had been deposited upon the shore. The storm that had tumbled the dainty red mare so callously among the frothing surf had finally subsided, granting the lone creature a moment’s peace, and a chance to rest.
The cold was excruciating, needling at her skin. Ofelia knew that she had to get to somewhere sheltered soon, but she did not know where in this foreign land she could find refuge, nor did she think she had the strength to make it far alone. Panic and defeat had the mare’s chest heaving in despair, and tears of fear and frustration stung her eyes. It was bitterly ironic. Her father had warned her, and she’d refused to listen. You’ll never make it on your own, mija. You belong here, and you will obey me.
Later, Ofelia would privately view the approach of a stranger in her moment of despair as some kind of miracle. But sound, scent or movement – one of these stirred the tiny, trembling mare into life again. Her head raised, it took all her remaining energy to stand, and she weakly cried out to the horse nearby, hoping they were still close enough to hear her.
“Ayúdame, te lo ruego!” Her thickly accented words were pleading, and as she took a step forward and stumbled as her foreleg threatened to fold beneath her, she cast her orange tiger-eyes about desperately, hoping to set her sights on the stranger. It was impossible to know if they would be friend or foe, but she had no choice but to place herself at their mercy. “Please, help me.”
Despite the frailty of her in this moment, and the uncertainty of her future, Ofelia managed to remain standing, and lifted her dainty muzzle in defiance of her misfortune. While she still breathed, she would fight, and if she were to survive the winter, she’d prove her domineering father wrong.
|