Common

She had never thought that the sea could be so cold—or that it might grab hold of her slender body and drag it beneath its deceptively-calm surface.

Touched by tragedy at a young age, Chelle had thought herself prepared for the trials ahead of her. But the tawny mare quickly learned that the world in which she’d been raised and the one into which she’d been thrust were as different as shadow and light. As a direct descendent of Judas, her life within the confines of his kingdom had been a sheltered one. Though the ruthless stallion was not the sort who was known to coddle or cosset those bound to him by blood, he did ensure that they were kept from harm—particularly those who were intended to serve a specific purpose. Predators were discouraged by vigilance and sheer numbers, rivals driven out or forced to their knees. And so Chelle was in the fourth year of her life before she discovered the fear that many foals learned soon after their birth. Before she fled with bounding strides from a pack of wolves intent on securing a meal. Before her senses were trained to remain alert even when her body rested.

Before she felt the burn of saltwater in her lungs, and surrendered to the violent panic of a drowning creature.

In the end, it was the very savagery of this strength that saved Chelle. The desperate churning of the champagne mare’s limbs clawed her free of the undertow’s leaden grasp—and somehow in the disorienting spin of sea and sky, her muzzle managed to break above the surface. No breath of air had ever tasted sweeter than that first, even as it rasped down her raw throat and into her aching lungs. And no amount of stubborn determination had ever lent her such courage as she found in the fear of what it would mean to return to her old home—a fear far greater than any she harbored of what might wait for her in the world beyond. There could be nothing for her in the direction from which she’d come; her only hope lay ahead.

It would be a couple hours of swimming before this hope manifested in a more tangible form, however. At this point, the young tobiano was so weary that she no longer noticed the buoyancy the saltwater lent her body. Instead, it felt as if her bones had been infused with lead and a weighty boulder tied atop her withers. Yet when she saw the thin strip of something on the horizon, Chelle rallied the last remnants of her strength and focused not on the slowly-nearing strip of beach, but on the steady rhythm of legs and lungs. Inhale, and one set of limbs would strike out. Exhale, and the opposite set extended while the first completed their graceful arc. And so it continued for a length of time that she could not have measured save by the growing protest of her tired muscles.

The transition from water to land was so abrupt that the sandy mare was almost literally brought to her knees. Only reflex saved Chelle from tumbling messily into the foamy white surf—and even then, it took a couple stumbling strides before she recovered entirely. Blowing the breath from her nostrils in a shuddering sigh that somehow combined relief and apprehension, she continued inland until she’d climbed beyond the waves’ reach. And it was there—overcome by exhaustion and the growing truths that swirled through her thoughts—that Chelle paused, too overwhelmed to even choose a direction in which to travel. Straight ahead there was a copse of trees that would provide shelter from the wind that howled across the island in irregular gusts—and further south, a meadow offered nourishment and the sun’s warmth to dry her coat. Yet neither of these comforts was enough to break the stasis that had claimed the tobiano woman.

Instead—rigid save the quiver of her nostrils and ears—Chelle remained at the boundary between sea and land.

As if she was waiting for one or the other to claim her.