"I will never return to the Inlet again."

Briar stood in the stiff, snow-laden grass, remembering the last time she'd been here. It was years ago, and she remembered young Azaleya's seafoam eyes staring at her, her small muzzle pressing into Briar's shoulder. Leya was too ignorant to see the layers of memories the territory held for her dam, the many folded bits of grief tucked away into its corners. She'd been living in the Harbor, but was driven inexplicably to visit, one last time, and all she'd accomplished was a renewed sense of grief so acute it threatened to pull her under (and in time, after Leya grew and left, it did). Simply looking upon the scrubby plains, smelling the cold, the snow and the sea... It pained her so. The whitesplashed mare had taken all of it in, bundled the sadness deep within herself, and left it - for good this time.

But life has other plans. Sometimes life brings you right back to your roots, back to your core where it hurts the most. Sometimes you need to reopen the wound in order to heal properly. Briar didn't really believe in all that philosophical "heal thyself" nonsense; she knew she was a lost cause, more ghost than anything, and it was only a matter of time before she withered like a flower and succumbed to the void. What she did know was that the ocean existed, dark and cold but gentle as she crossed it; and that the brackish shore was soft and giving beneath her hooves, and everything was exactly as it had always been, but completely and irrevocably different all at once.

Tired as she was, she couldn't sleep, and she wandered in the moonlight as she had years before, overthinking things as always. Briar's blue eyes swept over the flat ground but saw nothing, so deep was she in thoughts of the past. When there was movement to her right, she nearly ignored it, but the wind shifted and brought with it the sharp scent of horse, and she snapped out of her reverie. The mare lifted her delicate head, staring with flared nostrils at the source of the movement. The metallic tang of blood reached her, and she immediately switched course. She slowed her trot to a walk once she came upon the form of a horse, and she stopped a few feet away.

Her breath caught in her throat: for a moment, she thought the stranger was her daughter Sylvie, young again and fallen like autumn leaves. "Sylvie?" she whispered, her breath fogging around her. Cautiously she flared her nostrils again, and relief flowed through her as she realized this was a male, albeit a young one. He was so still, and as she cautiously moved closer she noticed the wound upon his neck, dried blood and dirt caked into the fur around it.

Briar stared, unsure of what to do. She was a small thing, and no longer as young and agile as before. She could barely remember getting here, and working through the fog for so long was wearing her thin. But she couldn't just leave. Her internal desire to help was too great, and she knew she had to stay and do something, even if that something was just standing vigil so that the youth might pass as quietly and peacefully as possible. She swallowed the lump in her throat and came closer. His chest hardly moved, but she saw fog in the moonlight around his muzzle. He was alive, but barely. Briar knew the feeling quite well.

Her ears twitched uncertainly on her poll. She stood over him in silence for a moment, wondering what to do. "Hey," she said, her voice cracking from lack of use. "Hey," a second time, stronger. "Get up."

Her eyes searched his, looking for a spark. A glimmer. Anything.

"Get up!" Her voice was urgent now, needy. She reached down to nudge his back with her nose, her words throbbing with emotion. "Get up, damn you!"

She didn't know why she needed him to live. It made no sense: a mare like her shouldn't concern herself with the locals, especially if she had any ideas about leaving. But she couldn't help herself. She needed him to live like she needed air in her lungs.

"Please..."