Never mind
Turn back time
You'll be fine
I will get left behind
Come to me on Salem, the spotted mare had said through her exhaustion and rage.
Or don’t.
It had taken a long time for Romulus to decide which way he wanted to risk the spotted mare’s wrath. If he went to speak to her, she might eat him alive; but if he did not, and ran into her again by chance, she’d eat him alive anyway. At the end of the day, it did not seem to make a difference, and damned curiosity gnawed at the dappled stallion.
She had not given him a precise location.
Come to me on Salem. Romulus made his way to Salem, then, wondering if he had missed his chance, taking a stab in the dark which part of the island he should begin his search. He was not familiar with Salem or its territories, and so all he could offer up by way of commentary on the sea of sand and rough scrub that greeted him was “of fucking course.”
Shaking the water from his coat but hanging on to the heavy brine scent of the ocean, Romulus ventured inland. The sun beat down on his dappled, ashen coat, drying him quickly and causing the remaining salt in his fur begin to itch. He saw no one. Any hoof prints that may have told him where to begin had likely been blown away by the incessant, hot wind just as soon as they were created. Very faint scents lingered around the border, recognizably mare, but they weren’t fresh enough to be helpful.
Irritated and uncomfortable, Romulus dropped to his knees and began to roll in the dusty earth to relieve the itch of seawater and the relentless weight of the sun. When he popped back up again with a groan, dirty and haloed by disturbed dust, he was moderately more comfortable, but no closer to finding the spiteful spotted mare. With nothing else to go on, Romulus simply wandered into the Desert.
