There was something different in the air today, Evanthe could feel it. Something that set it apart from all the other days that flowed in and out in a predictable fashion. As common, of course, as they could be for a mare that had no idea where she was, where she was going or even where she had been the day before. She had found the odd company of a stallion, embarked on a journey spanning at least two days with him to his home, and as soon as they parted company for a long enough period, simply forgotten who he was. The memory of him drifted about the complicated corridors of her mind, filled with dead ends and impossible angles. It was a mess of alternate climbing vines clinging to a crumbling wall, competing with each other to reach the top. They strangled each other and mingled with each other to the point that neither knew where anything began nor ended. Nobody in their right (or even disturbed) mind could navigate this, and so, for the time being Arcus was lost, and so was she once more.

She was woken that morning by an obnoxious blast of cool wind and discovered her body had somehow, inexplicably, been transported to the top of a small mountain range. However, confusion was beyond Evanthe, for although she had no purpose and no understanding past the setting of the sun, she determinedly believed that she did. This restlessness, this ache, kept her ever moving, ever wandering, like the many beautifully dying leaves of autumn cascading from every tree, settling briefly upon ground or rock only to be lifted up again and carried away by the travelling breeze. In this way she was akin to it, part of it; a natural element amongst the rest of the surrounding landscape, bound to no structure or responsibility.

The wild and untouched landscape of the islands had been sprawled out beneath her like a natural metropolis, so distinct in its various areas that it was almost as though it had been designed. But none of them appealed to her, none of them held any meaning, and so like many other days before her she simply followed the wind. It carried her down the mountains and through desert and over the ocean and no matter where she paused, nothing felt right. She felt exposed, alone, foreign, like a pigeon amongst doves. Looking for something but not even knowing what it was. At the end of the days she felt upset, and then awoke to perfect tranquillity as the memories of the previous days had been wiped clean. Only the build-up of dirt, dust, grime on her coat and detached body parts from plants clinging to her hair indicated the vastness of her previous adventures.

On the third day of travel from the ridge, or perhaps it was the fourth, she finally reached one of the furthest points of the most distant island. Evanthe did not know this, of course, because there were very few significant areas of elevation besides the one that she had come from, and as she could not remember where she had come from, there was no figurative map in her mind to provide context to her current location. Her relentlessness continued steadily with every passing day, sure that what she was looking for had to be just over the next horizon. Today though there was an extra tension in the air. It was thicker, denser, wetter, and yet somehow more electric. Everything was uncomfortably brighter, even though the sun was obscured by a thick white blanket of clouds. It put the creatures around her on edge; birds sang more tentatively and other animals dare not stray far from their homes, even for food.

Being a child of nature herself, the little mare picked up on this and carried this fear in her own shoulders, flaring nostrils and ever-flicking ears. Her steps were shorter and quicker and altogether less economical and she moved slowly across the terrain now, turning her head to look over her shoulder every now and then. She had that dreadful feeling of being watched, followed, some unknown set of eyes fixated on her although she herself could not watch the one who possessed them. She needed to hide, needed cover, and just as a mild panic was beginning to overcome her she saw the edge of the forest.

Relief hit her and flowed over her tired muscles like stream of icy water, and before she could contemplate what she was doing she’d picked up a trot, then a canter, then a gallop, closing the distance between herself and refuge as quickly as she could. As she burst through the initial barrier of young trees, she didn’t consider that this forest might be a home to other horses, because on her journey so far she had encountered not one, not a single other soul to have met and been lost to in the vague and endless depths of her damaged mind. She galloped as long as the terrain would allow her, but bit by bit her gait was forced downwards by thickening undergrowth and larger, older and much more magnificent trees, reaching higher into the sky than she even knew was possible. She felt embarrassed for a brief moment at how they must scoff at her foolishness right now, these ancient entities, panicking for no reason at all.

And so she allowed herself to be calmed by them, by their timeless wisdom and strength, listened to their soothing song and forgot about the unknown threat that waited for her outside their protection. She was safe here, among friends who understood her and loved her and never hurt her. She would stay here for a while.


Andalusian; mare; bay; 4 years; 14.3hh