"There are some things you can only learn in a storm" .

The dun stallion nodded and spun on his heels, turning back towards the fire. He scented the air, confused. He couldn't smell the fire, and even though he searched for the telltale ash swirling in the air, he didn't see any. The rain was falling steadily, and seemed to be falling harder now. Maybe it was just his imagination. He shook some water from his mane, and started to run. The water pelted his face as his hooves struck the ground in a steady rhythm. One two three four. One two three four. One two three four. After a few minutes, he can hardly tell the difference between his hooves and his heart.

He reached the tree, and skid to a stop. There was his bed, still dry under the shelter of the leaves above. And the tree still stood. There was no circle of cinders, no flames, not even a lingering heat from a fire that was. I don't understand, he stammered before glancing at his chest. The marks from the burns were still there, but they glistened with the white shine of an aged wound. The scars stung, but not with the strength of a new burn. Of course he would know. It was one of his earliest memories. But none of them were new. He spun around, still not able to believe what had happened. I don't understand. This time, he repeated it with more vigor. The mare had been so patient so far, not only bringing him back to reality but also believing him. How could he be so stupid? The rain was falling hard now. Flames would never survive in this weather. There was no smoke. Nothing. He hadn't even seen lightning or heard the rumbling of thunder in the distance. This was completely unreasonable. She had believed him. She hadn't doubted him, or questioned what he said at all. She took him seriously, even though there was no proof. That in itself was enough to bring a feeling of relief crashing over him.

The fire had felt so real. He could feel the heat and the searing pain from the flames. The smoke had filled his lungs. He had been so sure of it. Maybe he was at the wrong tree? He suddenly remembered the mare next to him. The mare that had thrown herself in front of him. Prevented him from what? He sketched a quick map of the Ridge in his head, and placed himself on it. He had been headed straight to his death. She had saved his life.

Dozens of small cuts on his legs started to sting as salt dripped into them. He was crying. The stallion tried to hide the tears in the rain, hoping that she wouldn't notice. He had been strong for so long, and he wasn't going to ruin that now. He faced the mare again, steeling himself to speak.
I'm sorry, I must have made a mistake.
He considered trying to explain himself, but decided that since he didn't really know what happened, it was probably best to stay quiet.