Salka had no knowledge of claims, no basis for understanding the hierarchies of this world. She had been alone for a long time, had been driven out of the herd before she was even of age. She unsettled them, she disturbed them, she made the stallions had nightmares. Old Reginald had gone to the ends of the world until they had believed her, and she had been outturned with the thawing Spring. She had been launched into the land 5 years ago and she had not returned to civilisation.
Touch, words, terms like ‘aunt’, ‘sister’, or ‘mother’ had the same relevance as a blade of grass among a meadow. Something that made up the body, but by no means dominating or important.
Salka moved snake-like, turning her bicolour neck so that she was facing the ink-blot mare. She was looking at Salka with intrigue; and Salka had the impression that she had got something wrong. She was missing something.
When Salka refused an answer, the mare seemed to understand. The mare’s eyes were drawn to Salka, a type of addicted curiosity that Salka had known of before. The mare then addressed her with, You can follow me, and Salka felt something draw back from her. An influence that crept away with the black mare and slipped toward the waves.
Why? Salka didn’t reply to the mare, but moved after the ink blot’s influence. She was not possessed, but she simply followed after the stranger’s movements.