Barron.
Mazarine can still see his handsome face when she closes her eyes. She should be overwhelmed with guilt but all she feels is free. She let the sea carry her away from a promise she never made.
The small mare smells strongly of brine. Her damp, chestnut coat gleams ruby red in the fading light of evening. A bitter cold wind sweeps across the common, and she shivers. Mazarine is a hardy breed, but winter isn't the season for swimming. Her teeth tear hungrily at wilted autumn grasses. She hurries to fill her stomach, and fuel the fire that heats her from within.
What is this place?
A young mare has wandered far from home, to a place that should exist only in stories. She has heard of islands at the end of the world where horses swim with the Kraken, and fly with the birds. Dragons wait, smoking in their caves, sitting upon hoards of treasure. Mazarine has yet to see the magic of her mother's stories come to life on these islands, but there are other horses. And she feels safe in the company of others, far from her father, and far from Barron.
She is free. For now.