Common

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The sooty filly was exhausted. The ocean was bitterly cold and there was a storm thickening the skies, the clouds and waves reaching for each other like lovers long separated. Hazel had survived the swim, and didn’t feel too bad if it weren’t for the cold. Her muscles ached with fatigue from the swim and from shivering so violently. She could hardly shake herself out on the sand when she arrived, so numb was her body.

Not that it did anything to warm her, but Hazel was proud of herself for making the trip. Her stride was bright and bouncy as she trotted from the shore and into the Common, following the scent of other horses, yearning to see new faces and meet new personalities. She had been terribly lonely in the past year—half of her short life—and had not yet formed the ability to enjoy independence. She missed the comfort of a herd. She felt lost without one.

Her white legs halted in the deep snow, and Hazel gazed out over the few horses scattered across the Common. Excitement flooded her heart, followed by stifling shyness, and suddenly she was more afraid than glad at the sight of strangers. How long had it been since she spoke to another? What if none of them were friendly? What if they were friendly but they just didn’t like her?

She had been alone so long she had forgotten that she was shy. Terribly shy. Even if she hadn’t been shy before, she was now. Isolation had messed with her head, and she was frozen, incapable of approaching anyone. Instead she just watched, hoping someone would come up and say hi to break her out of her trance.

Hazel