The Lost Islands
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I'll miss my breath, there's no more left


Talia


Talia’s coat matched the cold.

Hooves clacked against smooth stones and pebbles as the blue-gray-white-black mare pulled herself out of the grip of the frigid sea. She had no idea where she was.

"Hello?" she called, her voice wavering with the cold that gripped her throat. Her mane and tail were heavy with water, and it dripped down her neck and her barrel and her legs as she did her best to march into this territory. She distinctly smelled male and female presences here, and should she be found she did not want to appear weak or afraid.

The events of a few days ago were pushed away from the front of her mind by the more pressing matters at hand; her survival, perhaps. Talia needed to find food before she could focus on her memories, and she was grateful that the water and the wind put a cold mask on the pain of her injuries. They were many but the damage was minimal; the injuries she herself had inflicted far outweighed those inflicted upon her. A few still-bleeding cuts, cleansed by the seawater, and several bruises of varying intensity.

The pain was tolerable and, at the moment, forgettable, or at least ignorable. She would heal and hope that the attack had not left her with a permanent souvenir; she was young and strong and fit and far from ready to carry the burden placed inside her by a mindless stallion.

As the winter-colored mare left the rocky shore for the snow-covered trees, eyes sweeping the paper landscape for signs of its inhabitants, she told herself not to be afraid.

MARE : SIX : PASO FINO MIX : BLUE ROAN PINTALOOSA : 14.3HH
Lyric 2013


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