She was dreaming of her foalhood. It had been years since she had, but she could remember the sting in her knees and the ache in her young, developing joints as she was bullied down to the ground as if it were happening in real time. She remembered choking on the dust his hooves rose as they pounded mere inches from her neck. She remembered how he was so large, he blocked the sun and towered over her.
Get up, Agnes. Again.
She remembered how much she hated the disappointment in his voice, and how each failure presented a harder challenge, not an easier one.
A soft twittering of a bird pulled her from that place, and she blinked, eyes dazed and disconnected from the strange place she was in. The saltwater had dried on her coat the night before – she must’ve swum, stumbled up the shoreline and collapsed into the first bit of shelter she could find. The more sense returned, the more she was able to observe. She’d fallen asleep by the trunk of an old tree, with grazed-down, dry summer grass for her bed. The smell of horses – new smells, old smells – was nearly overwhelming. Her ears turned back, and she snorted as if to push the affront from her nostrils.
The sun had just risen, the sky a pretty smear of pastels being slowly lit by the sun’s gold. She untangled her sore, aching limbs beneath her and wondered if she’d had the dream she’d had because her body had been beaten up by the surf the night before. With a grunt she rocked to her feet and twitched her thick black tail against her hind, turning her head and frowning as she looked everywhere but saw nothing familiar.
Where was she?
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