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Does the past help write the future? Does what came before, inform what comes next? Was the path before her truly determined before she ever took a single step?
Nekharat pressed her hoof into the dry sand and watched it ripple outward. Each granule shifted, unseated further the more force she applied. She scowled and picked her foot back up, snorting lightly at the U-shaped print left behind. The idea that the sand must move away from her, that it possessed no choice in the matter, left her feeling like she had no choice either. When pressed upon, she would go in the direction she must go, regardless of how she or anyone else in the world felt about it.
Of course, the red mare would rather be the one doing the pressing. It felt good to affect something else. Whether her path was predestined or not, Nekharat decided as long as she could create a few ripples of her own, she could accept the reality that she could not control every reaction. Every burst was a result of a force applied, however welcome or unwelcome. There was no changing this, but she could work with it.
The moon loomed large in the velvet blue sky, reflecting off the jagged edges of the waves as they rocked back and forth across the ocean, hushing her thoughts of destiny as she stood alone on the edge of the beach. She did not know how much time had passed since she left her birthplace. Time only moved in one direction, and each second that ticked by was another that she would not ever see again. Only the memory remained. How useless, these memories, she thought silently.
She left her father when she was young, and she remembered little of him. She could recall his chides, and his insistence that she not ask so many questions. She knew his opinions, his standards and his other notable observations about the world, but she made no effort to live by them. They didn’t serve her, and therefore they were useless too.
Nekharat would make her own way.
NEKHARAT
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