There had been a storm brewing on the horizon when his mother had jolted him into wakefulness. Thunder rumbled above, but moments later, the inky colt realised that it wasn’t above them, it was below – the thundering of hooves trembling faintly in the earth he stood on. He’d never seen fear in his matka’s eyes before that moment, but the moonlight illuminated her features exquisitely before it was shrouded by cloud, and there was no denying that the bold, black mare was afraid – not for herself, but for the life of her son. There was no time for goodbyes.
Forgive me. Courage, my son. Be brave. And she shoved him down the sandy slope where he splashed into the sea. As the water bore him away, he heard cries of anger and anguish, and screamed against the wind until his throat was raw, and like everything else, his voice was taken from him.
----
He’d washed up on a foreign shore, alone, and refused to abandon his watching of the waves. His matka, she was strong, and any minute now, any hour, any day… She’d emerge in the waves and come back to him. All they’d had was one another, and the little black colt couldn’t comprehend what a world without her would be like. He’d never known disappointment before, had never been let down, so, to begin with, his heart and his hope remained steadfast, even as his body weakened.
The day the pale stallion arrived – a blessing taken by the colt as an ill-omen – that was when the truth dawned on him, so much colder and bleaker than the rising of the sun. His matka was gone, lost to him for always. Why else would the pale stallion be here. Matka had warned him of the Strašidlo, a white warrior who had caused such pain in their homeland, and who had been responsible for the loss of so much.
No matter what happens… Courage, my son. You will never become the Strašidlo. And so, though the colt fled in fear, his brave heart rallied against him, unwilling to let him leave the beach, just in case by some miracle his matka survived the sea like he had.
The stallion left him in peace, and with a weariness that seeped right to his bones, the dark colt sank into the sand, and he studied the might mountain that had been at his back with tired, intelligent eyes. Perhaps, if he rested, he could climb up the slopes a little ways. Surely from the top of such a magnificent monolith, it would seem as though the world were laid out before you. It might afford him a clearer view of the sea, and a certain black mare who could be attempting to cross it.
As if conjured up by his thoughts (so strong was his desire to be with his mother again, stronger than any hunger, or pain, or fear), movement further up the beach pulled his focus from the Peak, and the breath caught in his lungs. The strašidlo was back – but the figure beside him contrasted starkly, and the familiarity of the shape and build and movement made his heart ache with an impossible hope. The colt clambered to his hooves, staggering and stumbling as he raced across the sand to meet her.
“Matka!” the shout was loaded with emotion, and it echoed faintly off the lower slopes of the mountain. But even as the pale stallion hung back, and the shadow mare came forwards to meet him, the boy felt his heart quaver within him.
You are not my matka. He had not the strength of spirit to say the words aloud, but the tears shining in his eyes spoke volumes. The truth was cruel. But, the world did not leave him wanting entirely.
You’re fine, little one.
(Courage, my son…)
Without hesitation, the colt closes the distance between them, and tucks himself against the mare’s chest, blinking away the tears and willing the trembling of his body to cease.
“Prosím, nenechávej mě samotného,” he begged hoarsely, feeling secure in the mare’s presence. The words were not so much spoken out of fear of abandonment, but were driven by the need for familiarity, and a place to belong. Because, in this strange land, he’d had nothing and no-one. But the strašidlo had been watching over him, and had brought him this great blessing. The dark colt, with tiny flecks of white scattered across his coat, had a great many questions for this mare who shared his krev and his Jazyk, (and perhaps a few for the pale stallion too, once the colt felt comfortable approaching him, with the mare acting as a translator for them).
But for now, he just needed to rest, and regain his strength, and so long as he was breathing, he would not part from the mare who had – during the precious few moments they’d shared thus far – become everything to a boy who had nothing.
