Desert

If the child makes a reply, Runar does not hear it. Instead, below the din of the crashing waves, he hears the dull drumming of hooves racing across baked earth, and whips his head around to find the source. He is greeted with the sight of a mare charging straight for him, her eyes wild and teeth bared in rage, dust kicked up into a cloud behind her. Runar does not stop to consider that this must be the child's mother - he does not have time to think at all.

His body fired by adrenaline, Runar moves instinctively, pinning his ears back and leaping forward to dodge her initial strike. As the mare’s bellow of challenge clangs in his ears, Runar pivots on his hindquarters to face her. Muscles rippling beneath his silvery coat, he rises, and they clash in a mess of hooves and teeth and flying mane. One of the mare's hooves glances off his pectoral, and the resulting spray of dust stings Runar's eyes. Blinking wildly, he pivots again as soon as his forelimbs have hit the earth: this time swinging his hindquarters around, dropping his head and kicking his hindlegs blindly. He feels his hooves connect to the mare's body with a dull impact, but he continues kicking, throwing his full weight into each buck until the strain of exertion burns in his muscles.

His breath shallow in his chest, Runar flicks his tail and lets his nervous energy carry him a few hurried strides away before he turns to face his attacker once more.

She is on the ground, unmoving.

Numbness creeps up Runar's legs, and for a few long moments he does not breathe. He stares at the body, unbelieving, thinking that surely he must have just stunned her and her eyes would flutter open again any moment. As sweat dampens his sides, Runar takes one cautious step closer, his dark hoof pressing gently into the hard-packed sand, his eyes roaming the mare's body frantically for any sign of life. But she is still, her ribcage as inert as the stones that litter the earth.

Runar takes a step back, cold dread slipping down his spine. The child is forgotten; everything is forgotten in that moment. There is only the ever-quickening breath in his lungs, the thunder of his heart, and the rush of blood in his ears. There is only the mare lying prostrate upon the ground, her glassy eyes empty and staring, as the dust from their scuffle settles.

He becomes aware, then, that he is not cut out for this. He is not a Lagoon stallion: he is a child, drowning in his attempts to play at adulthood. Is this mare only the first of many he will hurt?

Spitting a curse under his breath, Runar turns on trembling limbs and flees into the sea.