When Callow arrives to The Common she feels fairly competent of handling herself. Her nameless mother hadn’t spent much time explaining how their world worked, but the pale young mare feels oddly sure of what to expect. She prances right in, all young sharp knees and a cavalier demeanor, plain head held high and slightly tilted as if to tempt any challengers.
Her silky silvery tail swishes and she almost seems to shrug her sloping, supple shoulders as she moves further down the oceanic shore. The sounds of the waves had drawn her nearer; the calls of the birds, the salty smell of the earth, that rocking notion of the wind that came and went like the caress of a gentle hug on a dark night.
Callow feels a strange sentiment in her chest that urges her forward and she gallavants perhaps in too jovial a manner through the surf. She neglects to notice that someone is there, childish as she remains, true to her name. When she opens her pale-colored eyes, reflective of the blue water nearby, she halts her jovial pace and lifts her head questioningly.
“Who are you?” she asks the stranger as if commenting on the weather.
CALLOW
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